“Not all the time. Do you know where Jonathan Meddington is?”
“I do.”
“Can you give him the child?”
“What do you propose he do with her?”
“He can bleeding well take care of her. Someone has to.”
“Where is her mother?”
“Dead. Gone. Who knows? No one in that house has been paid in an age. Some of the staff is leaving; the rest is one foot out the door. We can’t keep her hidden or fed. If the earl gets a hold of little Sarah…”
Eliza blanched at the intimation. “What would Wickham do? If he knew?”
The maid shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first bastard he’s had show up on his doorstep. Not really sure what happens to ’em but they never come back. ’Cept for Jonathan Meddington that is.”
“How have you managed to hide her? For how long?”
“Eight weeks give or take a day or three. Milady, I don’t have time to linger. I can’t pay the driver to wait round neither. Will you take the baby or do I leave her at the church in the village?”
“Take the baby? Me?”
“You’s the only one standing here.”
Eliza was sick and tired of being put on the spot. Do this for this person and that for that person. She was heartily tired of it all. She wanted to march back into the house, up to her bedroom, close the door and lock everyone out for at least a week. But in order to do that, she would be condemning the baby to death, or worse, life with the staid vicar and his terrible shrew of a wife. What if Wickham saw the maid? Would he recognise her from his own household staff?
It seemed she didn’t have to answer one way or another. The baby was placed in her arms, Eliza forced to hold on lest she drop her to the ground, and the bag placed at her feet. It was the only clean item in the whole mess, and then the scruffy maid was gone. Just like that. With Eliza standing in the drive, a wailing baby in her arms and Darius and his men nowhere to be seen, no help at all.
*
It had been a long hard few days for Darius and his crew, assessing the Persecutor’s decks and bow damage from the storm they’d endured. Hours had been spent scraping back timbers and tar ready for the supplies Marcus had ordered only to be told the ship would have to be limped to a building dock just outside of London. They were lucky to have been able to do all they had in five days but they’d had little choice in it. The repairs were just too big for he and his men to do on their own. It was going to take most of Eliza’s dowry but they would be ready to sail in eight days.
Seven too long for Darius.
He’d had a bad feeling since leaving Eliza and he’d tried to shake it free, drink it free, but it had a hold of him. He wouldn’t rest until they were on their way across the ocean to Boston.
The men had been in favour of staying on the ship for another night before returning to the house but Darius had voted against the idea.
He’d denied it was to see Eliza, preferring instead to go with a different excuse. There were too many dangers surrounding the Penfold children, enough danger at his own back as well, and five days was long enough to leave them. It was argued that they’d left more than enough men behind to protect the women and the house but Darius’s mind could not be swayed. He was captain so even at a vote, he still had the final say and say it he did.
And so it was almost evening when he and his weary sailors reined in and carefully dismounted in the forecourt. It seemed every candle burned from within the house, every window glowing impossibly bright, welcome and warm. A smile found its way to his mouth.
“You’re smitten with the girl,” Marcus remarked from his left. He’d joined their party on the second day rather than riding back to the house on his own. Darius had been glad to see his old friend safe and well and equally glad to hear the dowry was in their hands. Now Wickham couldn’t use Eliza in any way. She was useless to his sire and it made Darius breathe a little easier. The other news Marcus had uncovered had just as quickly caused his anxiety to return.
Tarquin leaned over and bumped shoulders with him as they approached the house. “I knew you was just eager to get back to your bride. Had nothing to do with danger at all.”
The front doors opened wide and Benny came running down the steps. He was never finely dressed, none of Darius’s men could claim that distinction, but this evening, Benny’s hair stood out in every direction, his yellowed shirt had some sort of creamy white stain glistening and wet on the front and he was babbling unintelligibly. Darius thought he heard the word baby, followed very closely by help me.
“Slow down, man. Slow down.” Tarquin laughed, slapping the man hard on the back to jolt him out of his frazzle.
Darius didn’t wait around for an explanation. The hair on his nape had risen at the panicked noises and he marched right into the house, his gun in his hand. He paused at the base of the stair and listened for where the most sound came from. He was listening for the sound of a woman’s voice, or a child’s hysteria. Instead, there was only singing. Low and soft and melodic, the rest of the house silent but holding a tension all the same for its apparent calmness.
He climbed the stair two at a time, deliberately missing the three that creaked so as not to announce his presence just yet. He stopped again in the long corridor to holster
