Page 18 of Kidnapped (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #1)

V irginia sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes barely open. She heard a key turn in the lock, the door opened, and a very young girl, no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, walked into the room carrying a tray. A large man behind her handed her a porcelain pitcher and closed the door. Virginia imagined he stood in the hallway.

“Hello,” she said to the girl.

“Miss,” she replied and dipped her chin, not meeting Virginia’s eyes.

She carried the tray to a small table with a chair and pulled away the checked cloth covering it. Virginia breathed in the divine smell as steam rose from a bowl. There was a slice of crusty bread, buttered, and a glass of what looked like wine beside what she could now see was stew.

“Oh my! That smells delicious!” she said.

The girl nodded. “It is, miss. There’s a piece of Mrs. Williams’s pecan pie wrapped up beside it.” She looked up at Virginia, startled, and covered her mouth. “Oh. I wasn’t supposed to speak to you,” she whispered.

Virginia lowered her voice. “It will be our secret.”

“There’s warm water and towels, if you want to clean up first. Something to sleep in too.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Virginia said, realizing how exhausted, how hungry, she was and how much she wished she could sleep for a full day straight through. To be clean would be a luxury.

“Welcome,” the girl whispered. “There’s a pot in the closet there.”

“Thank you. I hope I see you tomorrow.”

“I don’t know, miss,” she said and turned quickly to the door. “Petey?”

Virginia unlaced her shoes and pulled off her sopping socks. She hung them near the small stove warming the room and sat her shoes below them. She could not wait a moment longer to eat and concentrated on chewing slowly and savoring every bite. Washing up and sleep would be next. She would worry that she may be harmed, or even killed, tomorrow. And she would pray that Crimlock had gotten little William home and to his mother safely.

Phillip stood in the gap between two buildings on Exeter Street across from the Ellipse. He’d sent a message to Willis Shoeman after leaving the Garden. Willis was now laying against a building after having doused himself with ale, his hat pulled low over his eyes. Turnbull had a plain carriage around the corner with a young boy holding the reins while he walked the alley behind the Ellipse, occasionally talking to a random stable master, acting as if his man was in the building, being served by one of the young women.

Phillip watched groups of men climb the steps, where a door was opened by a tall man in a formal suit. Light, soft music and laughter could be heard pouring out of those doors when there were no wagons or carriages going by as midnight passed. Fewer and fewer pedestrians and riders out and about as most buildings housed shops or services that closed in the evening. But the night did not stop the steady flow of men to the door of the Ellipse.

Phillip leaned against the cold bricks at his back and closed his eyes. It would be a long night waiting for daybreak, but he was not willing to risk Campbell moving her in the middle of the night while he slumbered at home. He thought of her, Virginia, as she’d looked the night he carried her out of the ball and into her bedchamber. The trust in her eyes had nearly undone him. I’m sure everything will be fine. You’re here.

But more even than that, their nearly platonic kiss haunted his dreams. He’d met many women, some more interesting, some more attractive than others. He’d climbed into a few of the widows’ beds over the years, and some couplings had been more satisfying or more passionate than others. But he’d rarely, if ever, thought about that woman the next day or the day after, nor did he think any of them thought about him. Those nights were a mutually satisfying physical arrangement and nothing more.

That was why he was confounded with how often he thought about Virginia Wiest. Before he closed his eyes at night and usually the first thing in the morning, he wondered what she was doing. Who she would talk to. Where she might go and if she was strong enough to do so. She was not the most gorgeous woman who’d ever lived, but to him she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on. He was concerned he’d let these new and untested emotions lead him to make a mistake during what would be a dangerous rescue. He must meet this moment clear-eyed, practically, and bravely.

Turnbull walked by his hidey-hole and hissed near four in the morning, “All dark.”

Phillip waited a moment and stepped out from between the buildings and turned away from Turnbull. He walked two complete blocks before turning and finding the alleyway that would lead back to the Ellipse. He stood in the dark under a stable overhang, watching the building, waiting to see and feel the quiet of an edifice asleep. He saw Turnbull walking down the alley from the other direction, skirting in and out of deep shadows, until he was on the other side of the Ellipse property.

Phillip walked slowly toward the back of the building while Turnbull cooed to the horses in the stable. He imagined she was hidden on the top floor among the servants. Phillip touched the handle on the servants’ door. It was unlocked, which meant a guard was most likely posted inside. He heard a short whistle and looked over his shoulder into the dark yard. Two small figures, heads bent, were walking toward the back door. Females, he guessed. Phillip moved behind a small pine tree near the door and crouched down.

“Let us in, Gordy! It’s freezing!”

The door opened, and the two women hurried through. He could hear them fussing at the guard.

“Light us down to the kitchen. Those cheapskates didn’t even give us a glass of wine or a scrap of bread!” Phillip heard as the door closed softly. He did not hear the lock turn and carefully cracked the door as the voices faded down a stairwell on the left. A narrow staircase on the right went up. He hurried up the steps, two at a time, until he could go no more. He nearly burst into the hallway when he saw a dozing guard in front of a door at the end of the hall. He would undoubtedly lose the advantage of surprise if he bolted down the hall at top speed.

Phillip tousled his hair and opened his shirt to his breastbone. He hugged the wall, walking carefully until the man began to stir. He walked quickly up to him and bent over. “Hey, mate! Lost my way when I left Tilly. How do I get out of here?” he whispered.

The man jumped from his seat. “Ain’t no Tilly here!”

“What is that? A spider? On your back,” Phillip said and peered around the man.

The guard danced around, started slapping his neck and pulling at his collar. As he did, Phillip slipped an arm around his neck and held while the man kicked out and tried to turn himself and attack. But Phillip had the advantage of a few inches in height and was able to keep the guard’s feet from the floor and walls. He could feel him weaken as he struggled to breathe against Phillip’s tight hold. He was slack at last, and Phillip reached down with his free hand to the ring of keys hanging on the man’s belt.

He dragged the man toward the door he’d been guarding and laid him on the floor. He tried several keys until the door creaked open and he was able to drag the guard through.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Miss Wiest,” he said in response to her panicked whisper.

“Mr. Brown?”

The moon cast an ethereal glow across her face as she sat up in the bed in the corner of the room. She was wearing a shining silky gown he could see when the blanket fell away, and she quickly pulled it up to cover herself.

“What can I tie this man up with?” he asked.

She jumped out of bed and pulled the sheet off. “Do you have a knife?”

He could barely function as the moonlight shone through the length of her gown, revealing a slim, feminine, and naked figure. Her words finally registered as she continued to stare at him, and he pulled a knife from his boot. She took it and used it to start a tear in the fabric. Soon she had several long strips just as the guard began to groan. Phillip punched the man in the chin, quieting him for a second time, and then tied his hands and feet.

“Don’t gag him, please. That would be terrifying if you couldn’t get your breath,” she said.

“Then we best get out of here fast before he wakes and starts screaming.” Phillip glanced out the window and saw the glimmer of sunrise through the trees. A diversion was in order, and he hoped Willis remembered his job.

He heard a door slam on a lower floor and some chatter that finally erupted in the word “fire.” “Here we go,” he said as the shouting built. “Pull your cloak around your shoulders and over your hair. Hurry.”

“Where is my dress?”

“No. No dress. You must blend in with the other . . . women. Cover your hair.”

“We can’t leave this man bound. He will burn to death.”

“No, he won’t. There’s no fire in the building. Now hurry.”

She glanced at him blankly for a second or two and then shoved her feet into low boots by the stove. Phillip opened the door, pulled her under his arm, and ran down the hallway. He shouted, “Fire!” as they came to the stairs. They hurried down and joined the throng of people flooding out of the lower floors, mostly women in varying degrees of dress. They were halfway down the last flight of steps when he noticed a woman at the bottom near the door with long auburn hair curling around her shoulders and a satin gown barely covering her bosom, a brocade floor-length robe over top. She was directing staff and others to hurry outside when she glanced at Virginia and then at him. Phillip braced himself for her shouts as this had to be Mrs. Van Dyke. She eyed him, even speaking to others without turning her gaze from him. He had guided Virginia through the open door and down the stone steps to the now muddy yard when he heard her call out.

“You there! That girl doesn’t belong to you! Stop him!”

Phillip hurried Virginia past the stable and finally picked her up in his arms near the alleyway, looking right and left for Turnbull and the Wiest carriage. He heard it coming around the corner before he saw it, Turnbull in the coachman’s seat, frantically hawing the horses and nearly bringing the carriage up onto two wheels. Willis was clinging to the side of it, ready to open the door. Phillip shoved Virginia at Willis, who’d jumped off the carriage as it slowed. The crowd in the yard behind him quieted suddenly when he heard a Scotsman’s oath and the hard clap of a palm on flesh.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Mrs. Van Dyke in a heap on the ground and her massive, bald, one-eyed bodyguard, Cordle, lunging toward Campbell with a primitive growl. Every woman and man in the Ellipse’s yard watched the confrontation while one of the women knelt on the ground beside Van Dyke. A gun’s report shocked Phillip and the others gathered, temporarily freezing them all in place. Cordle slithered to the ground, a black hole in the center of his massive forehead. Phillip shoved Willis to the carriage and looked at Turnbull. “Go. Go now!” he said and turned to the Ellipse as the carriage began to move.

Everyone scattered, the women crying, the men panicked and running from Campbell and his men. Mrs. Van Dyke sat up, holding herself up on her hands and knees in the mud and snow, screaming and crying. Phillip could see blood on her chin, running down from her lips. Campbell turned to her, his eyes boring into her while she screamed and called him a son of a whore. Campbell slowly brought his arm up, smiling at her panic, and pointed his gun at her face. She stared at him, clearly unwilling to be cowed as his finger found the trigger.

“Hey, Campbell!” Phillip shouted. “Too much of a coward to pick on anyone but a woman?”

Campbell’s arm lowered, and he turned toward Phillip.

“You! Goddamn Irish trash!” he shouted as he stalked toward him.

Phillip eyed the carriage, just now making the corner onto the main thoroughfare.

Virginia was bouncing around wildly in her seat as Mr. Turnbull picked up speed in the alleyway. She looked out the carriage window as they began to turn the corner and saw Campbell stalking Phillip Brown, who was standing alone in the mud and the slush. She could hear shouting and crying even over the sound of the carriage rocking forward to Mr. Turnbull’s commands to his team and the crack of his whip.

“Stop! Stop the carriage!” she shouted through the small door behind Mr. Turnbull’s seat.

A man leaned down from his seat beside Turnbull. “Mr. Brown would have our hides. We’re to get you safe first!”

“We cannot leave him!”

Virginia sat back on the seat, pulling her cloak around her, even though, strangely enough, she was not cold considering she wore only a satin gown with thin ribbons for sleeves, her cloak, and her half boots. She opened the leather pocket on the side of the carriage where she found a knife more appropriate for cutting string on a package than doing any damage when she remembered she’d put the blade her Uncle Simon had given her in her pocket before she went for the Adamsen child. Was it still there? Less than half a day ago? How is that possible? Virginia felt as if it were a lifetime ago.

She dug down in her cloak pocket and found the knife. She had no intention of leaving Phillip Brown to his fate. She could hear Turnbull shouting as he hawed the horses to a near stop for a dray hauling lumber and stone. Virginia took a breath and made the only decision she could make and live with herself. She opened the carriage door and jumped down onto the street. She could hear Turnbull shouting at her as she went as fast as she could back to the alley of the Ellipse. She leaned up against a stable wall with some other women, trying to catch her breath, watching as four men ruthlessly beat Phillip Brown, even holding him up to hit him again.

Campbell was laughing as his men beat Phillip’s face until blood flew from his mouth in a stream. Campbell removed his heavy coat then and handed it to a woman kneeling in the mud.

“Don’t kill him yet.” Campbell smiled as he shouted at his men. “I get that honor.”

Virginia could not watch any longer. She could not. She must do her part, however futile. She walked up to Campbell, his back to her.

“Why are you such a coward? Why do you pick on women and children?”

He turned, put his hands on his hips, and roared with laughter. “Just who I was looking for.”

“Why are you looking for me? Greta and her son are long gone, and she was your only chance to find out about the harbor purchase. You’re done. You’ve lost,” Virginia said to gasps from the crowd.

Campbell’s smile fell. “You’re destined for a brothel near the harbor. You won’t be wearing satin there, girlie. And you’ll learn to keep your sassy mouth shut unless you’re servicing a navy man on your knees.”

Virginia heard Phillip howl and saw him strain against the men holding him. Campbell stepped close to her, and she did not back away, although every instinct told her that she should be terrified, frozen in place, and unable to draw breath. His hand snaked out in that instant, bringing her roughly against his left side, his arm around her neck. She did not kick or scream or panic, although every nerve in her being shouted that she should. She felt his focus change then, and she turned her eyes as much as she could to see him bring his right arm up, wielding his gun and aiming it at Phillip as his men inched away.

She pressed the small spring-loaded button, and the blade popped free of its handle where she gripped it in her pocket. She pulled it out slowly as she began to feel the effects of his thick arm at her throat. As he laughed at Phillip’s efforts to remain standing, she brought the knife around with all the force she could muster, landing it in the soft flesh of Campbell’s side. His howl of pain broke the air.

She pulled it out and stabbed him again. Campbell picked her up by the hair; she could feel her feet dangling, and she clutched at this arm.

Virginia saw the fist coming at her face, but in a flash she was on her back on the ground. She sat up, her hands sinking in the mud as she straightened, icy water seeping into her boots and her cloak. Then her eyes were on Phillip Brown pummeling Campbell and focusing his fists on the side where she’d stabbed the man. Campbell’s men were closing in on the two men and on her when she saw Mr. Turnbull and the other man from the carriage, a small, dark-skinned man, both running toward them. The men each tackled one of Campbell’s men and a few men from those still muddling around the Ellipse yard joined in. The beautiful woman from the Ellipse was kneeling over the dead bald-headed man, crying and touching his face reverently.

Campbell fell to the ground, his hands covering his head. Phillip stood over him, swaying on his feet, his hands and face bloody. She got to her feet, taking a moment to breathe slowly.

“Mr. Turnbull? Where is the coach. Let us go before we hear a police bell clanging.”