Ghost of the Thames (13 page)

“No, I . . . since we are here, I’d
like to see the dock. If you please.”

He nodded, thinking himself a saint
not to finish what they'd started. He wondered when patience had
become one of his personal qualities.

“You need to remember, this is a wild
place, packed with ships and warehouses and unsavory men. I’d
prefer not to have to fight my way out of here. Everything you need
to see can be seen from the steps of the carriage.”

She nodded, her fingers quickly going
to her hair, tucking in the tendrils of brown hair that had worked
loose.

He gave her time, watching her, and at
the same time trying to will his body to behave. It had been too
long since the simple act of kissing had nearly undone him like
this.

“Tell me more about it, so I
understand. Is this a place for Royal Navy ships, as well as
merchant vessels?”

“These docks are for merchant ships
from the West Indies. The Royal Navy has an old yard across the
river in Deptford, but most ships--including mine, in fact--sail
from Portsmouth.”

“And how did we come to get
here?”

“Did something distract you along the
way?”

She blushed at his teasing.

“As I told you before, we are
downriver from London. Perhaps three miles or so from the Royal
Exchange in the city.”

She adjusted the tie of the cloak
around her neck and pulled up the hood. “Can we get
out?”

Edward was amused by her interest.
“We’d better. That is, before I try to change your mind
again.”

A familiar scene greeted him as he
stepped out of the carriage. A sea of humanity on the broad quays,
an army of workers carrying loads and rolling hogsheads from the
ships and barges to the rabbit warren of warehouses. He offered a
hand to Sophy, and she joined him outside.

Standing next to him, she took her
time scanning the scene in silence before her. She took a deep
breath in and smelled the air as if trying to test the familiarity
of the place by its scent. Looking across the wide rectangular
basins filled with a forest of masts, she seemed to be seeing
something that was hardly new to her.

“Is all the cargo arriving on the
merchant ships loaded and unloaded here?”

“This was the way it used to be done,
but that was too slow and dangerous,” he explained. “Twenty or
thirty years ago, these wet docks were built with secure boundaries
and ample warehouses on each quay. This allowed ships arriving from
the West Indies to unload in this northern dock, sail round to the
southern dock, and load up with export cargo. The efficiency of the
design allows ships to come in and out in a fraction of the time
that it took them before.”

“This place is huge,” she said under
her breath. “But I can’t help but feel that someone was explaining
all of this to me not too long ago.”

Edward looked at her. She was
entranced by the sights. He thought of the exotic language that she
spoke. He could not subdue the thought that there could be a man,
some seaman, perhaps, that she belonged to. And with the thought
came an unpleasant twist of jealousy in his gut.

“Can you tell me more?” she asked,
reaching for his hand.

He took her cold fingers in his,
holding tightly. “The import dock here consists of over thirty
acres of water.” He motioned beyond the basin. “Over there, the
export dock is slightly smaller. Together, they have space for more
than six hundred large sailing vessels. At each end of the docks, a
smaller basin connects them to the river, with locks to control the
flow of water between the docks and the Thames.”

“So ships enter on the Blackwall side
of the basin and the lighters go in at the Limehouse end,” she said
quietly.

Edward looked at her, impressed. She
knew the names of waterways for each side of Isle of Dogs. “How do
you know this?”

She shook her head. “It just came to
me. Facts with no context.” She gestured straight ahead. “And those
warehouses are five stories each.”

“What else do you
remember?”

“Information, the history of these
docks, unimportant things.”

“Tell me.”

“Before these were built, the problems
were at their worst for ships arriving from the West Indies. The
delays and difficulties for loading and unloading were choking the
merchants. The larger ships discharged their cargoes into lighters
that unloaded at the legal quays and wharves, but the frontage was
terribly restricted.” She looked into his face. “I sound like a
page from a book.”

“What else?”

“The problems were increased by the
reduced depth of water at the quays and in the river’s channel, all
caused by silt and sewage and ballast from ships. Building these
docks was the first major improvement of London since the
rebuilding of the city after the Great Fire.”

“You are a veritable
gazette.”

She stopped. Holding his hand tighter.
She shivered slightly. “But I did not read this. Someone told me
all of this because he thought I would need to know it.”

“Do you remember who? Or when?” he
asked.

She looked down, obviously
disappointed. “I have the same empty feeling that goads me when I
realize that I can speak another language but have no idea how I
came to learn it.”

“Captain!
Captain Seymour!
”
Someone’s shout, followed by others calling his name, drew Edward’s
attention to a half dozen men standing on the deck of a large
merchant vessel that was being unloaded. He recognized some of the
faces as they started toward the gangway of the ship.

“Would you be kind enough to wait for
me inside?” he asked Sophy.

Two of these men had served him as
midshipmen on a voyage to the West Indies a few years back. The
others had served in the same crew. He was not unhappy to see them,
but he didn’t want the presence of a beautiful woman at his side to
lengthen the chat.

She nodded and he helped her back
inside. With a nod to his driver, Edward pushed his way through the
crowd to greet the former crewmen.

These men were no strangers to the
news of the disappearance of Henry Robinson and Edward’s niece.
With the bluntness of sailing men, each expressed his own opinion
of the character of young Henry and his surprise at what had
transpired. As they talked, Edward faced his carriage, making sure
Sophy remained safe.

A group of dark-skinned dockworkers,
several wearing long, collarless shirts, walked by him and moved by
the carriage. As they passed, Edward was surprised to see Sophy
open the carriage door and step out and address them. He was too
far away to hear anything, but he was sure they replied to her
greeting.

One of the men separated from the
group. He stopped in front of Sophy and stared at her for a moment
before bowing deeply. She spoke to him, and he answered, gesturing
excitedly and repeatedly bowing to her.

The men he was speaking to forgotten,
Edward moved quickly toward his carriage. At that moment, a gang of
rough-looking sailors saw the man speaking to Sophy. Without a word
to her, they lifted him clear off his feet and carried him down the
quay. Sophy cried out and went after them.

The crowd thickened, slowing his
progress, and Edward momentarily lost sight of her. Shoving his way
through, he reached the carriage and found his driver physically
barring her from following. By the time Edward reached her, she was
ready to fight his man. Beyond them, the sailors and the dockworker
had disappeared.

“Who was that? What was that about?”
He took her by the arm. She looked pale, shaken, and kept looking
anxiously in the direction the man had disappeared.

“He wasn’t bothering me.
He knew me. He said he
worked
for me,” she said in a rush. “He said he thought
I was dead. He said
everyone
assumed I was
dead
!”

CHAPTER 14

From the window of the carriage, Sophy
scanned the crowd. She could no longer see the captain, but she
knew he was going in the right direction.

He had gone off after the dark-skinned
dockworker, and Sophy had reluctantly complied with his order to
wait inside the carriage for him. She waited, angrily eying the
stone-faced driver standing guard outside the door. The few words
she’d exchanged with the stranger played over and over in her
mind.

After Captain Seymour went to meet
with those men who called to him, Sophy had every intention of
remaining inside the carriage. But when she realized that she
understood the conversation of the men who were passing--and that
they were not speaking English--she was not about to sit idly
inside. Climbing out, she’d greeted them and asked what language
they were speaking. One answered that it was the language of India.
That was when one of the men had approached her. The stranger
stared at her as if she were a ghost. She’d asked him in his own
language if he knew her. It was then that his excitement had
overwhelmed him.

You are not dead.
The same words were repeated again and again. He
had also addressed her as if she was someone important. He said he
had worked in her kitchens. She tried to recall anything specific
that he’d said. No name, no location of where it was that he lived
or she lived. He was too excited to let her ask any questions. And
then suddenly, that group of brutes had swept him up, screaming
that he had no cause to be speaking to an English lady. Sophy had
tried to go after them, but the driver had interfered.

And now she didn’t know what was to
become of the innocent man.

This was the first time that she had
seen anyone who knew her, who knew anything of her past. She had to
find him.

Captain Seymour had been gone too
long. Sophy opened the carriage door to get out, but the solid
figure of the driver blocked her path.

“No, miss,” he said plainly but
politely. “You know the captain will have my hide if I allow you
out.”

She sat back down on the bench. The
driver closed the door, resuming his position.

Sophy was frustrated.
Minutes ago, something quite important had been confirmed. She was
supposed to be dead.
Death
was final
.
She had been saved from the river by a ghost. She
had been frequently visited by this ghost. Had she been dead and
brought back to life for a purpose? Had someone killed her? She
couldn’t have been floating willingly on the river tide. Sophy’s
head pounded with all the possibilities. And why was it that she
couldn’t remember?

Some relief came to her in the form of
the captain climbing back into the carriage. He sat across from
her.

“I couldn’t find him,” he said, his
frustration evident on his face. “The good news is that some
workers on the quay saw the man get away from the sailors. So
whoever he was, he is not badly harmed by that gang.”

“Perhaps the two of us should go out
looking for him,” Sophy suggested. “Perhaps if he were to see
me?”

He shook his head. “There are
thousands of people working these docks. If he belongs to one of
the ships, he could be anywhere. And if he is a dockworker, he’s
probably long gone from here. I think our time would be better
spent if I were to have a sketch of you printed on a handbill. I
can have it distributed throughout the docks. He might see it and
come forward.”

She sank back on the seat, thinking
about what result a poster bearing her likeness might produce. The
memory of Jack Slade and his man Trencher was too fresh. She’d
already had an ugly and firsthand view of some of the criminal
element plying their trade on the streets of London.

“No,” she said. “How am I to protect
myself from anyone who comes forward and says he is a relation of
mine? I cannot remember anything. Even this man I met a few minutes
ago--he was apparently honest, but how do I know? I didn’t remember
him.”

He leaned forward and took her hands
in his. He didn’t say a word, but she could see that he
understood.

“I will
not
make you more
vulnerable. You are right. I withdraw the suggestion.”

The carriage had not moved, and she
gazed out at a ship tied to the quay.

“Tell me again everything that you
remember of the conversation.”

She repeated, word by word, all she
recalled. She wished she could tell him the truth about the ghost.
But that part of her life was too unbelievable to be shared with
anyone.

He sat back. “He said everyone thinks
you are dead. But he didn’t say how you supposedly
died?”

“No,” she said sadly. “Or where. Or if
anyone is grieving for me. Or if someone is accused of murdering
me.”

His dark eyes met hers. “Do you think
foul play was involved?”

“You saw the gash in my
head. You know the condition I was in better than I do. I was
floating in the river. How can I trust
anyone
?”