Darby: Bride of Oregon (American Mail-Order Bride 33) (11 page)

Two hours later, when she’d heard nothing from
Elton or her husband, she decided she’d earned the right to panic. She was
certain the tall guard would have sent word to her if he could have, so now she
had two men to worry about.

She left Jenny and the cook in the house, told
them to lock all the doors and windows, and find a windowless room to hide in.
She hurried out to the carriage house to see if Jacobs was around, but the
carriage was gone along with her husband’s horse. The fools were probably
running around the city changing clothes and changing hacks and making it
impossible for Elton to find them.

At least she hoped that was what they were doing.

But she hadn’t been left alone. There were at
least four guards watching the house all the time. Elton was only one of them.
And though she’d never been told how to call them in, she had a powerful
whistle that would surely do the trick. So she stood on the back porch, curled
her tongue, and sent a shrill message into the hills. In case they could see
her, even if she couldn’t see them, she waved her white handkerchief over her
head for a good half a minute. Then she waited.

No calls. No whistles. No gunshots. Nothing moved
in the dark forest just beyond the yard. Nothing from the clearing further up.
And the orange of the sunset was slipping off the ends of the pine trees. It
would be dark soon.

Where were the guards?

She made no bones about hurrying back inside. It
might have been her imagination, but she could feel eyes upon her, watching
her. And they weren’t friendly eyes.

“Don’t let them be dead,” she muttered over and
over again. “Please, don’t let them be dead.”

Poor, Elton. So gentle. So loyal.

“Please, don’t let him be dead.”

She gathered candles and a bottle of whisky, then
went in search of Jenny and the cook. She found them in a small room off her
own that was intended to be a nursery one day. She laughed when she saw the
pile of candles on the floor and the decanter in Cookie’s arms. “Brandy,” she
said, and nodded to her prize.

Darby lifted her bottle. “Whisky.”

Cookie nodded to it. “Mr. Rand won’t drink it ‘cause
it’s Scottish, but he keeps it on hand for guests.”

Darby laughed. “Just like me.” But she sobered
when tears threatened. She handed the bottle to Jenny. “Remember, you have to
ration it. You might be here for days before help comes. So you’ll need a
chamber pot of some sort, and you’ll need food.”

Cookie stepped to the side to reveal a large ham
in a small wooden cradle.

“Ration that too,” Darby ordered.

“Wait.” Jenny tugged on her sleeve. “Where will
you be, mum?”

Darby pulled away and backed out the door. “I’ll
leave the lights out, so hopefully, they’ll think the house is deserted. Then I’m
going to find my husband.”

She closed the door on their protests and begged
them to keep quiet. Then she hurried to her wardrobe, changed into a dark
blouse and skirt, good sturdy boots, and a deep blue cloak. She crept out the
kitchen door closest to the carriage house, then moved from shadow to shadow
until she was inside. There was one horse in the stable. She only hoped it was
a gentle one.

Saddling seemed to take forever, and as each
moment passed, her fingers shook harder and harder. Twice, she had to take some
deep breaths and console the horse, since it could sense her fear. Maybe it
could smell it on her.

Finally, she felt confident the saddle would hold,
and climbed on. She draped herself along the animal’s back so she didn’t get
scraped off as it carried her out the small door. She braced herself for an
attack or a gunshot. But the animal cleared the yard and ran swiftly down the
drive with no prompting necessary.

The horse seemed to know the way well enough, so
she gave it its head while he carried her back and forth down the mountainside.
Though she was exposed on the road, she couldn’t have cut through the forest
without scaring herself to death. The shadows of the trees were intimidating
enough. If their branches reached out for her, she’d be a crying, screeching
mess and her horse would leave her to the wolves.

Ten minutes later, she was clattering across the
bridge leaving Cookie and Jenny behind to who knew what dangers. She had to
remember to send help to them as soon as she found someone she could trust. But
she’d only been in town a couple of times since her wedding day. And she would
never be able to find the Phantom’s lair unless she repeated the ritual from
the last time.

Though it went against her instincts, she turned
south. The stock yard couldn’t be hard to find, and hopefully, the toothless
fellow was still on hand to help her.

As she moved through the darkening streets on the
far side of the river, the sway of a lantern caught her eye. With fewer trees
and tall buildings, the wind, stirred by the flow of the Willamette, blew
freely in that part of town. The lantern hanging at the side of the small house
swung back and forth of its own accord. But the stoop it lit was familiar.

It had to be the house where she’d changed into
men’s clothing, then taken the hack to Jezebel’s brothel. Her husband’s people
would be inside. There was no need to find the stockyard after all!

She turned her horse and urged it into a trot. She
passed no one in the length of the block and she would have thought the area
deserted if it weren’t for lit windows here and there. She wrapped her reins
over a post ring and hurried up the steps. She knocked as she’d knocked before.
Twice. Then once. Then four times.

The door swung open and a familiar face greeted
her. Foster, he’d been called. He’d been the nervous man standing guard at the
door when she’d found Rand’s leg sliced nearly to the bone.

He urged her inside, peeked at the road, then
closed the door.

“I need to find my husband,” she explained. “And I
need to send help to the house. My maid and cook are holed up inside. The
guards have been... The guards are gone.”

“And Elton?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

He seemed to be the only soul there. The rest of
the small house was quiet. But one man couldn’t find help for the women and
lead Darby to her husband. “Is there anyone else who can take me to Rand? So
you can get help to the house?”

He shook his head. “I’ll take you to your husband,
and along the way, we’ll find the help we need. Don’t fret now.”

He took a scarf from a peg and told her to cover
her hair. Then he led her back out to her horse where he mounted and reached
down for her hand.

“Aren’t we supposed to catch a hack from here?”

“No time. Rand will understand.”

She doubted it. But at least, when she got into
trouble, she wouldn’t have to take all of the blame. The important thing was to
make sure Beauregard was safe. Nothing else mattered—certainly not the contract
they had yet to negotiate.

Harrigan had been toying with her, trying to scare
her. Had he wanted her to go searching for her husband? Had she walked right
into his trap? She couldn’t know. But everything inside her screamed to find
Rand Beauregard. If they were together, she could face whatever treachery
Harrigan had planned.

Her heart lurched with painful understanding. Heaven
help her, she’d fallen in love with her husband.

Foster took Darby back the way she’d come. Once
they were over the bridge, they traveled only two blocks before he turned to
the left and moved parallel to the waterfront. The further they went, the more
clearly she remembered the smells from when she’d scurried through the tunnels
behind the crippled man called Nero.

Foster turned the horse down an alley and suddenly
they were at the rear entrance to Jezebel’s brothel, The Port Queen. After
leaving the horse to its own devices, he led her around to the far side and
through an old door. Obviously, he hadn’t seen the need for the pretense of
climbing up and down two flights of stairs.

They moved quickly but silently through hallway
after hallway until she was sure they couldn’t be in the same building they’d
started in. She just hoped, when they opened a door, that Rand would be on the
other side of it.

Finally, Foster stopped at a door and pushed it
open with only a faint squeak. They ducked inside. No Rand.

Dim lighting from the hallway allowed Foster to
find and light a lamp, then he closed the door. The taste of dust was thick in
the air. “There should be some whisky,” Foster said, “at the end of the bar
there. I could use a shot.”

“Now?”

“Yes. We have to wait a few minutes, you see.
Three knocks. Then we’ll know it’s safe.”

Three knocks. She just hoped the cavalry would
hurry.

She walked to the bar and reached for the whisky
bottle. The dust was thick, but there were marks on it, as if it had been
pulled from someone’s hands.

She wrapped her hand around it just as three clear
knocks sounded at the door. She turned to find Foster standing with his knuckle
poised for knocking, a grin on his face.

Was he teasing her?

Foster shrugged, his eyes bright with glee. “He’s
spared no expense to make certain you get the full tour of the city.”

Darby grabbed the bottle to throw it at the man
but the floor fell out from under her and her fingers slipped from the square
of glass that had been permanently attached to the bar. Her elbow hit the edge
of the trap door as she dropped. She caught and held her breath just in case
she landed in water, but she didn’t.

Her feet struck something firm but soft, and her
momentum bent her forward. She rolled arse over teakettle down a slope of what
felt like mattresses and finally stopped on a hard brick floor.

“Upsie Daisy,” a man’s voice said from her left.
She was caught by both elbows and lifted to her feet. Then the two shadowy
figures hurried her forward so quickly she could barely keep her feet beneath
her. She considered resisting, but the way her arms were being pinched promised
pain.

“Unhand me, ye bastards. Or I swear I will feed ye
piece by piece to the Phantom himself!

They laughed, both of them. Like maybe they
planned to feed
her
to someone…piece by piece.

She lost track of the turns. Right, right, left.
Then right and right again? The smell suddenly worsened and she knew they were
getting close to water. She could feel the wet against her skin. She must have
lost the cloak in the fall.

If she survived the night, Beauregard would kill
her himself. She wasn’t supposed to come across the river after dark. Hadn’t
she promised?

She would have to point out the fact that she had
yet to sign any contract. She only hoped she’d have the chance to see his angry
face again in order to do just that.

Her escorts spun her around a corner and gave her
a shove. She was free of their grasp, but not free at all. Her chest slammed
against a wall and a metal gate crashed behind her, catching her in a tiny cell
too small to even sit in. Her captors held onto the bars and grinned. And
though the wall behind her was damp, she preferred to press back against it to
gain as much distance as possible from the cheerful bastards.

So this was one of the cages her husband lost
sleep over. She just hoped he was free to check this one before her captors
decided to crawl inside with her.

The walls were solid to either side, and with the
two men blocking the opening, she felt suddenly starved for air. So she
coughed, then coughed again. But the men didn’t budge until she stepped forward
and coughed in their faces.

“I hope I don’t have the plague or something. Is
pneumonia contagious, I wonder?”

Someone laughed behind her captors and they turned.
Though she couldn’t see clearly, and she doubted every one of her senses at the
moment, Darby was almost sure she’d glimpsed Jezebel’s face.

Rand paced back and forth just inside the door of
his lair. If he was sane in the morning, it would be a miracle.

At a faint sound, he paused to listen. Nero’s
whistle repeated.

About damned time!

He hurried to the bedroom, checked to make certain
his unexpected visitor was still out cold, then barred the door with a heavy
pipe just in case. There couldn’t be any loose tongues tonight.

He slipped outside, locked the large steel door,
then slipped the key into the Chinese puzzle box and tucked it out of sight.
Only he, Jez, and Shadow knew how to open it. If none of them survived the
night, his prisoner might never get out.

The hack was waiting. One more deal with a devil,
and it would be done. He paid the driver, gave the address, and opened the
door. Jez was seated inside, waiting.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. The last
thing he needed tonight was for her to be staring at him, trying to read his
mind.

“I thought you might like some company.”

“Tonight? You’re loco.”

“Well, maybe you don’t want company, but surely
you’d like me to help you relax a little, before the fireworks start.” She
pressed her leg against his and laid her hand on his knee.

He looked out the window, even though there was
little to see in the dark, and ignored her.

She rubbed his leg. “You know, it’s not nice to
think about one woman while entertaining another one.”

He lifted her hand off him, then tossed it back at
her. “Are you trying to provoke me?”

Jez grunted and rolled her eyes. “She’s the enemy,
Rand. Remember?”

He shook his head. He just couldn’t make himself
believe Darby had betrayed him to Harrigan. Of course there was a good chance
she was just as upset with him as he’d been with her. So maybe, in the middle
of a temper tantrum, she might have done something stupid. But she wouldn’t
intentionally destroy everything he’d worked for and endanger his life. If she
were angry enough, the reasonable thing would be to leave him.

He suddenly remembered a couple of times she’d
been unreasonable—in the mountains, when she’d run blindly through the woods,
and at Rosemary’s, when she’d been prepared to play the harlot with a stranger.

However, those were harrowing times. He’d pushed
her too far. He understood that now. But he hadn’t seen her for days. He’d done
nothing to provoke her since they’d separated at the train station. Besides,
the Scot in her might be an emotional fool, but Lady Beauregard would never
betray him to the enemy. And somewhere, inside that Scottish girl, was his
wife…

Lady Beauregard had loved him. And damn it all if
he hadn’t loved her.

They passed by the opera house where gas lights
still had the place lit up like midday. Something inside the carriage reflected
that light into his eyes and he searched the shadows to find out what it was.

Again, there was a flash. He picked up Jez’s hand
again and looked closely at her finger where a ring blinked back at him.

“She gave it to me,” she said.

“Darby gave you her wedding ring?”

“She did. I swear it. She said,
Here. I have
something that belongs to you
. Then she put this in my hand and said
goodbye. Maybe she thought we would never see each other again. I mean, maybe
she already planned to betray you.”

“When did she give it to you?”

“In the carriage…”

His chest tightened. “When were you in a carriage
with my wife, Jez?”

She turned on him. “You mean your Scottish wife?”

“Yeah. That one. Tell me. When were you two in a
carriage together?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it was at the brothel.
Maybe at your house, in the library. It’s dark in the library.”

“You know exactly when and where it was, Jez. And
if you don’t tell me all of it, you can get out right now.”

She huffed out her breath. “Fine. It was in her
carriage, after you two got off the train and went your separate ways. Your
telegram was cryptic. She’s Scottish. That’s all you said. So I had to go see
for myself. So I got in a hack and chased Jacobs down. I climbed into her
carriage so no one would see us talking. And I asked her. That’s when she gave
me the ring. And that’s all.”

“That’s all? Jez, you’re a fool. It wasn’t Darby
who gave me away to Harrigan. It was you!”

The guilt that appeared and quickly disappeared
from her face told him all he needed to know. Jez had known, or at least
suspected that she was responsible for the current disaster. And she’d led him
to believe it was Darby.

If and how he would ever be able to forgive
Jezebel would depend entirely upon how the rest of the night went. If she was
smart, she’d start repenting right away.

His relief must have been easy to read, because
Jez started pouting again.

“She thinks you love me, by the way. Did you get
that? That’s why she gave me the ring.”

“Yes. I got it. And just so she understands
perfectly, I’m going to give it back to her.” He held out his hand and waited.

Jez gasped in pretended outrage he didn’t begin to
believe. He just wiggled his fingers.

“You love her, don’t you?”

“I guess I must.”

“Scottish and all?”

“Scottish and all.”

“So you’ll give her the ring?”

“Yes.”

“Will that be before or after you sell her to the
captain?” She pressed the ring into his hand. He tucked it away in a pocket,
then turned to face the window again. The shadows were closing in on him.

“Well?”

“The monster must be fed,” he said, and was relieved
when that turned out to be answer enough.