Chapter Twenty

Mercy had never been so terrified in her entire life. But it wasn't for herself. The moment she heard the shot and saw Nate fall from the carriage would live with her forever. All she could think about was the sight of his body lying on the cobbles. His black evening dress had prevented her from seeing exactly where he'd been shot so she had no way of knowing whether he was dead or alive.

She looked at Reinhardt's cold, impassive face and wanted to spit in it. It was the first time she'd actually seen him in the flesh and his hand on her arm made her skin crawl. As if in answer to her silent hatred, his grip tightened painfully on her arm.

There were two other men in the carriage with them – both clearly thugs for hire.

‘I don't reckon I did more ‘an wing ‘im,' the one with the gun said, shoving the pistol down his stained britches.

‘Well, you din't get off two shots, Davy, so I'd watch where you put that if I wos you,' the other man chortled, ‘Wi' your aim, you'll just as likely shoot yer baubles off – mind you, at least you won't need to worry ‘bout meetin' ol' Derrick.'

‘If I swing, I'll bloody take you wi' me, Smiffy.' Clearly there was no love lost between the two men.

Biting her lip, Mercy looked down at her lap. She needed to get a grip on her fear. She had to put Nate out of her mind. If the wretch was right, he'd only been wounded, not killed. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Watch, listen and take the first opportunity to run. That was the only way she'd get out of this.

She raised her head and looked out of the window. At first, she didn't recognise where they were, but after a few minutes she realised they were heading for London Docks. A fresh surge of fear engulfed her. Obviously, Reinhardt intended to wed her, then board the first ship back to America.

But why did he want her so badly? Mercy had no illusions about herself. She was pretty, certainly, but hardly a diamond of the first water - and to come all the way from America… She glowered down at her knee. Likely her father was right – it was something to do with her mother. She sneaked a brief glance at her captor. Did she dare try and find out what? If she simply asked him, would he tell her? Then she berated herself. Now was not the time to find out what the blackguard wanted - He'd no doubt give it to her chapter and verse after they were leg shackled. She needed to be out of his clutches before that happened.

She looked back out of the window. Though Reinhardt still had hold of her arm, he'd relaxed his grip slightly. Nobody spoke and the atmosphere in the carriage was one of tense anticipation. Did he intend to wed her this night? She shoved down the sheer terror at the thought of what might follow after. The thought of sharing her captor's bed made her feel physically sick.

Mercy became aware that they'd entered the Dockyard as the carriage took a sharp right, running alongside the wharfs. She took heart from the number of people still milling around the quayside, but then she realised that even though it was still relatively early in the evening, quite a few of them were Haymarket ware. If she cried for help, she'd be unlikely to receive it from that direction.

Biting her lip again, she did her best to memorise her surroundings, but gradually realised that all the wharfs looked the same. They passed warehouse after warehouse interspersed with pubs, lodging houses and pawnbrokers. Plenty of venders were still abroad peddling their goods – mostly foodstuffs by the look of things. If she appealed to any of them for assistance, would they be likely to give it? Surely there were dock police patrolling the area. Mayhap she could persuade one of them to run for help.

Mercy's mind went in increasingly desperate circles as she sought a way out of her predicament, until finally she felt rather than saw the carriage slowing down. Her heart gave a dull thud as she attempted to see where they were.

Both henchmen shifted slightly, clearly getting ready to climb out of the carriage first. Mercy stiffened, then tried to relax, swallowing her increasing panic. She subtly shifted away from her captor, and to her surprise, he didn't react, seemingly preoccupied by their arrival.

Heart slamming against her ribs, she tensed, getting ready to move as soon as the carriage stopped. Glancing over at Reinhardt she saw he was looking through the other window and with a thrill of terror, realised they were approaching a lodging house. It was now or never.

Without waiting for the carriage to come to a full stop, she leapt to her feet, grabbing hold of the door handle at the same time. Evidently not expecting her to make a run for it, Reinhardt hadn't maintained a tight grip on her arm, and she was able to yank it free as she thrust open the door and leapt down. As soon as she landed, she picked up her skirts, kicked off her evening pumps, and ran.

She'd hoped to be able to lose herself in the myriad of alleys surrounding the buildings to the left, but to her horror, they'd stopped close to a wide-open area that looked as though it had recently been cleared after a fire. Swearing under her breath, she sobbed her frustration, hearing the unmistakable sound of her pursuers gaining on her. She wasn't going to make it. There was an almost village sized collection of makeshift shops and stalls inside the open area, and turning towards them, she screamed for help.

To her horror, she was totally ignored. No one, absolutely no one came to her aid – not even challenging the two thugs who took hold her arms none too gently.

Mercedes sobbed softly as she was led back to her captor who was now regarding her like she was something less than human.

All fight had gone out of her, she let them pull her towards the lodging house. To her surprise, they didn't take her through the front door, but into a narrow passageway to the side. White hot fear had her briefly fighting against the arms that held her, but a sudden back-handed slap across her face shocked her into silence.

Seconds later she was dragged through a door and up a narrow set of stairs into a room that actually resembled the bedchamber she'd been given in Carlingford Hall. She swallowed a sudden hysterical laugh, half expecting a priest to suddenly crawl out from under the bed.

‘Tie her to the chair.' The order was given almost indifferently, in complete contrast to the slap he'd dealt her minutes earlier.

Mercy battled her panic as they forced her down into a chair, trussing her up like a chicken. Despite her fear that they'd do something terrible while she was tied up and helpless, she was completely ignored, and as the minutes ticked by, she realised they were waiting for the priest to arrive.

‘A man of God is unlikely to marry us while I'm bound to a chair,' she said at length. Mercy knew her comment was unwise, but she was desperate to find out if there was any chance of appealing the priest's conscience.

All three laughed and her last hope withered and died. ‘You reckon ‘e's goin' ter refuse to do the deed since yer bride don't look none too ‘appy about it?' The man named Davy slapped his thigh in delight.

‘I object,' Smith parodied in a high voice.

Mercy blinked furiously. Whatever happened she would not cry in front of these… animals.

Seconds later, footsteps sounded up the stairs.

‘that'll be ‘is revrenship now – shall we ask ‘im?

‘ Enough !' Reinhardt's command was imperious but without emotion, until abruptly he gave the most malevolent grin Mercy had ever seen. Her heart constricted in terror as he added, ‘Show some respect, gentlemen. Today is my wedding day…'

***

Within an hour of Mercy's abduction, Christian, Max, Adam and Gabriel were on their way to London Docks. Although all four were thinking it, none of them voiced the concern that they could be chasing a red herring.

If Mercy wasn't being held in the Docks, they had no idea where she could possibly be. And if that proved to be the case, all four men were painfully aware she was lost.

The mood in the carriage was tense. All of them were carrying pistols they wouldn't hesitate to use should the need arise. Their plan was vague at best. If Reinhardt was holding Mercy in the Dockyard, it would likely be somewhere he'd already picked out, as Max suggested. If that proved to be the case, the American must have spent at least some time going backwards and forwards to the lodgings.

Surely someone would have seen him.

Of course, Reinhardt might have been staying in the Docks for the whole of his time in London, but all four men agreed it was unlikely. His lodging in the Dockyards would be near to the ship he'd bought passage on, and he wouldn't have risked staying so close until he knew his plan was about to come to fruition.

As they approached the entrance to the Eastern Docks, Christian was surprised to see one of his carriages waiting at the side of the road. Frowning at the others, he climbed down and hurried over to the coach driver to ask what the devil he thought he was doing.

Minutes later, he came back, his face grim. ‘We have another problem. It seems that Augustus, Percy and Finn are inside the Dockyard somewhere. They were dropped off just before three when the Reverend requested they be collected around five.

Unfortunately, the coach driver hasn't seen them since.'

***

Nate gritted his teeth as his arm was soaked in liqueur for the second time in as many minutes. It seemed that Prudence and Patience could not agree on the amount of alcohol necessary to disinfect the wound. Prudence favoured the ‘the more alcoholic the better,' method, whilst Patience simply poured on whatever she could lay her hands on. Either way, the Viscount suspected that if any self-respecting infection was even considering settling in his arm, the half bottle of blue ruin currently soaking into his veins would very likely have put paid to the idea.

Unfortunately, both sisters agreed that the wound needed stitching, but at that point Chastity had stepped in. Apparently, she'd always been the seamstress of the family. And looking at his arm nearly an hour after the bullet had gone through it, Nate was simply glad it hadn't had to be amputated.

While the sisters were administering to his wound, Nate had updated Jamie on the events of the evening and the magistrate was already in the process of gathering together a number of Runners to search the Docks – focusing on those wharfs specialising in spices.

‘Father actually spoke with me earlier today asking about ships to the Americas,' Prudence commented thoughtfully, handing a roll of cloth to Chastity. ‘I told him I'd speak with our cook who has a nephew working in the Docks. Mrs. Shearing hasn't reported back to me yet, but I'll go and speak with her now to find out if she's heard anything.'

‘It might have been helpful if you'd remembered that earlier,' snapped Patience, ‘since all our husbands could well be on a wild goose chase.'

Prudence reddened. ‘It slipped my mind with Mr. Harding's injury and all the talk of lodging houses and spices,' she retorted defensively. ‘I'll go and speak with her now.'

As she hurried from the room, Chastity frowned at Patience. ‘Was it necessary to be quite so scathing?' she scolded, stabbing her unfortunate patient with the needle to emphasise her point.

Nate winced and hurriedly intervened before a full-blown argument could erupt. His wound already hurt like the blazes, and he'd be no use to Mercy at all after being her stepmother's pin cushion. ‘Naturally Christian's hoping to stop Reinhardt before he forces Mercy to wed him,' he commented through gritted teeth.

‘What will happen if he fails to find her before then and the marriage has taken place?' Chastity asked fearfully, giving him another stab.

‘From a legal standpoint, providing all the paperwork is in order, there's very little any of us can do,' Patience answered with a sigh.

‘Except make her a widow,' Nate countered grimly.

At that moment, Prudence reappeared. ‘Anything?' Patience asked, her tone much more conciliatory.

Prudence gave an agitated nod. ‘Apparently there's a ship named the Western Star moored alongside in the Tobacco Dock that's due to sail imminently – mayhap on the next tide.'

Nate swore softly. ‘That's why Reinhardt's acted so hastily – he's hoping we won't have time to stop him.' He turned to Prudence as Chastity finished wrapping his arm. ‘Can you send someone with a message to my house?' he asked her. ‘Tell the groom to saddle Duchess and have her and Ruby brought here as soon as possible.'

‘What are you going to do?' Patience asked.

‘There are enough men searching for the lodging house. If I head straight for the Western Star , I'll make certain Reinhardt doesn't leave the country.' He climbed to his feet, wincing as he accidentally flexed his arm.

‘Horseback riding will likely open your wound,' Patience advised caustically.

‘Not if I ride Duchess. She's battle trained and will react to my leg movements.' Nate explained.

‘And who's Ruby.'

‘His dog.'

‘Is she battle trained too?'

Nate gave a fierce grin. ‘No, but she a first-class ratter.'

***

After ushering Percy behind the spice shed, Reverend Shackleford asked him when he'd last married anybody.

Percy gave him a puzzled look. ‘I've only done it the once, Sir. You married Lizzy and me yourself.

The Reverend stared at him for a second, then sighed. ‘Sometimes Percy, I swear the Almighty has the strangest sense of humour. I'm not talking about you and Lizzy. When was the last time you conducted a marriage ceremony?'

Percy frowned. ‘May Day,' he answered promptly. ‘Just before Finn and I left for London. Bit of an urgent affair as I remember since the baby was well overdue.'

Reverend Shackleford sighed again. ‘David and Dolly, I take it. I told old man Parsons he couldn't expect the lad to keep his hands to himself if he insisted on spending every night in the Red Lion while he left ‘em to their own devices.'

‘I think Mr. Parsons was secretly pleased in truth,' Percy retorted. ‘He looked very happy at the wedding.'

The Reverend nodded. ‘I can understand that. If I remember rightly, Dolly Parsons has a face like a bag of broken crabs.' He shook his head, then waved his hand in dismissal. ‘Anyway, now's not the time to discuss the love lives of the residents of Blackmore. Could you repeat the ceremony word for word if you had to?'

Percy creased his brow. ‘I think so, Sir. Why do you ask?'

‘You're going to conduct Mercy and that blackguard Reinhardt's wedding.'

The curate stared at his superior in horror. ‘I couldn't possibly do that, Sir. I'd never forgive myself.'

The Reverend groaned in frustration. ‘I'm not asking you to conduct a proper ceremony,' he retorted in exasperation. ‘Nothing legal, anyway. That's why I wanted to know if you remembered it word for word. It's easy to get the crucial bits wrong, if you know what they should be.'

‘But what about the real vicar?' Percy insisted, ‘and why can't you do it?'

‘The real one's not here yet. And if I go up there, Reinhardt will recognise me.

‘So, what are you going to do?'

The Reverend opened his mouth and shut it again. This was the part of the plan he'd not finalised yet. If Flossy had been here, he'd have used her as the distraction. He swallowed a sudden urge to break down and cry.

‘Finn will provide a disturbance,' the clergyman declared gruffly, ‘once you've started your dearly beloved bit.'

The curate looked at his superior in dismay. ‘Lizzy'll have my baubles,' he gulped.

‘Dinni fash yersel, Da,' Finn piped up climbing to his feet. The lad dashed the remaining tears from his eyes. ‘It's up tae us tae stop the bastard.' He didn't apologise for his language and neither man berated him as he sniffed and added, ‘Ah ken it be what Flossy'd want.'