Ghost of the Thames (28 page)

“Priya,” Sophy whispered in utter
shock. She was out of the carriage in an instant and hurrying
toward the old woman.

Priya wobbled visibly, as if she
couldn’t keep her balance. She appeared not to be aware of Sophy,
but tried to turn and climb back inside the carriage again. The
groom assisted her.

“Priya,” Sophy called louder. She
reached the carriage as the old woman slumped back into the
seat.

“Wait,” she ordered, pushing past the
groom and climbing onto the carriage step. In spite of all the
confusion about her past, Sophy had no doubt who this woman was.
And Priya looked very sick. She was leaning heavily to one
side.

“Priya, it is I. Sophy.”

Priya’s face lifted at the sound of
her voice. She squinted, trying to focus. She reached out with
trembling fingers, and Sophy climbed into the carriage as the old
woman tried to touch her face.

“Sophy?”

“Ji
, Sophy,” she repeated.

Immediately, tears sprang
into the wrinkled corners of Priya’s eyes, and she sank back
heavily. “
Korben
,” she whispered.

Sophy understood why the older woman
asked forgiveness, for at that moment, Hodgson climbed in and the
door shut as the carriage lurched into motion.

CHAPTER 33

Standing impatiently in the waiting
room, Captain Alfred Lewis stared with simmering anger at the
gleaming oak door.

On the verge of retirement, he did not
deserve to be treated with such disrespect. In his long career in
Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, he had commanded more than thousand men
on scores of ships. It was outrageous to be summoned to Portsmouth
from his estate in Sussex to answer questions regarding the death
of some inconsequential midshipman. What would he know of the
sordid affairs of a boy who had run off with Admiral Seymour's
granddaughter, a girl who was so obviously above his
station?

At least, this was what he intended to
say to Thomas Byam Martin, Vice Admiral of the Fleet, when that
bloody door opened.

Moments later, anger gave way to
trepidation when he was admitted only to find himself facing a
full-fledged inquisition led by Captain Edward Seymour and fully
supported by the Vice Admiral.

“We have statements and testimony from
officers and crew,” Seymour went on, “as well as from the ship’s
surgeon from your half dozen patrols along the West Africa coast
and from your voyages in the Far East. There is no question, sir,
that you escorted and assisted slave ships, even transporting human
cargo to England on Her Majesty’s ships, contrary to naval
regulations and the laws of Parliament.”

Lewis’s immediate reaction to deny the
charge was silenced by a glance at the stack of what appeared to be
signed documents on the Vice Admiral’s desk. He also realized it
was pointless to try to guess who the traitors were. After war with
France was concluded, the extra income had been welcomed by many of
his officers over the years, and it had kept the rest of his crews
silent, as well. But loyalty went only so far,
apparently.

He considered his
position. The accusation of escorting slave ships
illegally
could be
argued. They were British merchants, after all. Many commanders of
Royal Navy vessels had done the same. The legality of the
transatlantic trade depended on where the cargo was unloaded. After
the abolition of the slave trade in 1833, a number of industries
that Britain depended on, such as cotton and sugar production,
needed to be maintained. Those goods were still hugely profitable
and relied on slave labor. As a result, ‘unofficial’ trade
continued, with many in the Admiralty turning a blind eye to its
officers’ involvement.

It wasn’t until this last journey from
the Far East that he’d been a bit reckless, carrying women who were
destined not for distant fields but for the brothels of London. It
was an extremely profitable journey for him, but he knew that
transporting them aboard his ship was a direct
violation.

“We started asking these questions
only this week,” Seymour explained, “questions that have already
resulted in an avalanche of accusations and charges of misconduct.
And you, Captain, stand at the very bottom of that avalanche.
Members of your crews have been coming forward by the dozens to
testify, most of them with the hope of saving their own careers and
their reputations. “Your officers—”

“I hope you realize that I am only one
cog in the machinery, Captain Seymour,” Lewis broke in, knowing his
only chance lay in following in those same footsteps. And he knew
Edward Seymour by reputation. He was one of those idealistic fools
who thought they could change the world.

To save himself, Lewis thought, he
would need to deflect their attention away from himself. Sometimes
the best strategy was not the broadside, but the dagger slipped
between the ribs.

“I have a list of names, as well,
gentlemen, that I am willing to share to assist you in the halting
of this heinous practice in which I have been forced to play a
small role.”

CHAPTER 34

“Miss Sophy recognized the passenger
they had in the carriage and went with them willingly,” the driver
explained remorsefully. “There was nothing we could do but follow
them and see where they were taking her.”

“And where did they go?” Angela
Burdett-Coutts asked sharply, unsuccessful in keeping the note of
fury out of her voice.

The man went on to relate every street
and every turn they’d taken to the destination. Once there, they’d
seen Sophy walk inside the residence, helping the same old woman
they’d heard Hodgson refer to as ‘Priya’. An inquiry in the
neighborhood revealed that the house belonged to Mr. John
Warren.

Angela paced back and forth in the
foyer as Hannah stood by, wringing her hands anxiously. Angela knew
that she herself was responsible for this. Earlier this week, she
had sent a letter to Lord Beauchamp as planned, telling him that
she was bringing a dear friend with her who was certain to create a
sensation at the ball. She’d made no reference to a name but had
asked if John Warren was to be expected. Any fool would have
deduced who her guest would be. And any one of Beauchamp’s staff
could have passed the information on to Sophia’s uncle.

The one thing they’d feared the most
had come to pass. Sophy was in John Warren’s clutches, and there
had been no public announcement that she was alive. What would
happen if he decided to deny the abduction—if one could even call
it that—and contend that she was still missing or that she was
dead? Angela couldn’t allow it.

“You need to let Captain Seymour
know,” Hannah asserted. “He’ll come up with a solution.”

“He’s not due back until tomorrow. By
then, it might be too late.”

Angela didn’t want to be the one to
give this news to Edward. She turned to the driver. “Take me there
this instant.”

“Is that wise?” Hannah interrupted.
“You don’t even know if Warren will receive you, never mind allow
you to see Sophy.”

“That is of no
consequence. I am going,” Angela announced stubbornly. “The least I
can do is let the man know that
we
are aware of his niece’s whereabouts.”

*

If this was an abduction and if she
was a prisoner, no one gave any indication of it right away. It
didn’t matter, though; Sophy had other priorities.

Priya was delirious and, other than
the initial moment of recognition, the old woman hadn’t uttered a
single coherent word. During the carriage ride, Sophy questioned
Hodgson continuously about Priya’s poor health. The man was
useless. The only thing he knew was that her uncle had graciously
arranged for the servant to be situated in his personal residence
on Oxford Street, where a doctor would be attending her.

Sophy wasn’t a child. She knew this
was all part of a grander plan, and based on what she could see,
Sophy knew her lifelong caregiver and friend was under the
influence of drugs.

At John Warren’s house, there was no
sign of her uncle, and several servants helped carry Priya to an
upstairs bedroom.

“The set of rooms next door was
arranged months ago to serve as your apartment,” Hodgson said. He
had followed them upstairs and was now gesturing to a door that
apparently led to her room. “All of your luggage and belongings you
brought on the crossing have been delivered there.”

“I won’t be staying here,” she
reminded him.

“But your uncle believes you
are.”

“Where is my uncle?” she asked
sharply.

“He is expected back this
evening.”

She had avoided him all this time. Now
she was anxious to deal with him directly, rather than with this
obsequious weasel.

“And the doctor? When will he be
getting here?”

“Arrangements have been made, Miss
Warren.”

There was something infuriating about
Hodgson. She noticed that while he was speaking to her in his
false, agreeable tone, he was constantly motioning or whispering
directions to servants who came in and out of the room. She also
noticed that two male servants were standing guard outside the open
door.

“Miss Burdett-Coutts has a doctor at
her disposal all the time. I would like to take Priya to her
house.” Even as she uttered it, she already knew the demand should
have been made when she still had Angela’s grooms around
her.

“My apologies, but your uncle cannot,
in good conscience, surrender the care of this servant to
another.”

“Then I would like to be
taken to Miss Burdett-Coutts’s house and return with
her
doctor.”

Again, Hodgson shook his head
apologetically. “Mr. Warren has been heartsick because of your
absence. His instructions are for you to stay here until he can
meet with you.”

Sophy took a threatening step toward
him. “Am I to be kept here against my will?”

“My instructions were that you are
encouraged to stay here until your uncle arrives.”

She took another step. “And to what,
exactly, does ‘encouragement’ extend?”

“We were asked to keep you
here.”

“By what means?”

He took a half step back. “By whatever
means necessary.”

“Are you telling me, all of this was
planned? That you used a sick woman as bait to trap me?”

“Miss Warren, you can see for yourself
how ill Priya is. As I recall, you climbed in the carriage
willingly.”

“How did you know I was traveling
inside that carriage?" she asked in a sharper tone, not giving up
her assault. "Or that we would be traveling at that precise time of
the day? Or which route we would be taking?”

“I have other matters to attend to.
Now if you will excuse me, miss.” He retreated as if she were a
rabid dog and about to attack.

Sophy was angry enough to have caused
him bodily harm. She watched Hodgson hurry from the room and heard
the turn of a key in the lock. Glancing back at Priya, she could
see the older woman had dropped into a restless sleep.

Sophy checked the other
door and found it did indeed lead to two spacious rooms. She went
in and immediately tested the entrance to the hallway. Also locked
from the outside. She had no doubts now. She
was
a prisoner.

She pulled back the heavy velvet
draperies. The windows overlooked a small, enclosed garden. The
trees were bare of foliage, and the flower gardens were dead and
unkempt. The drop was substantial, but Sophy figured she would risk
it if she needed to.

Sophy moved back to Priya’s bedside.
The old woman’s breathing was labored. She trembled in her sleep.
Sitting on the edge, Sophy touched her face. The skin was clammy
and cold. She adjusted the coverlet.

The lines of age in her face, the
shape of the eyes, the full lips, the straight and narrow nose, the
graying hair. Sophy knew every feature by heart. She remembered
this face so well that it felt they’d never been apart. She
recalled the sacrifices Priya made over the years to stay with her.
Forgoing time with her own grandchildren to become her caregiver
when Sophy’s mother had died. And then, some ten years later,
deciding to come with her to England.

And she was ailing now because of what
her uncle had done to her, simply to trap Sophy. She had no doubt.
He was despicable.

An image flooded her mind’s eye. Sophy
was in a different place and time. She was dressed in black and
moving aimlessly through a room crowded with open trunks and
clothing and servants busily working to bring order to the pace as
they packed her belongings. She passed a mirror. She was not a
child, but wore the clothing of a young woman.

“This is my home. I don’t
want to leave.”

“There is nothing left for
you here. No family . . . no husband. You have no protector. Money
is not enough. You need to go back to the country of your father
and do the right thing. You must choose a man you can
trust.”