Chapter 2: Storm Bringer
Belmoran Island, 1842
"What are we going to do?" Lucy sobbed in Ross's chest. "What are we going to do?"
Ross wished he could tell her. Usually, he had all the answers. But, then again, usually, he didn't kill on impulse. Usually, he didn't kill at all, unless he was ordered to, like his years in the navy. Killing was easier than people realized, but it was also the hardest thing to recover from. He didn't know what to do, how to comfort the woman he loved.
He didn't even hold her when she fainted. What sort of man was he? To stand there, still, unmoving... God, what had he become?
"We can't be here, Ross," Lucy was saying, still in shock and covered in blood. What if someone heard? She was right, they had to leave.
"Let's go then," he said hollowly, not recognizing his own voice. Who was this man?
"We can't leave him here like this," Lucy brought herself to look down to James. "We can't leave his body here like this."
"Yes, we can," Ross took Lucy's hand, meaning to remove her from this situation, this place, forever. Why did he feel so hollow? "Let him rot. We need to get out of here."
"Ross, we—"
"Lucy, don't argue with me!" Ross snapped, not meaning to. Why was he acting this way? He loved this woman more than his life. He didn't want to hurt her; he wanted her to be safe forever.
Before Lucy could open her mouth to fire back at him, a movement behind Ross caused him to whirl around, still holding Lucy in his arms as he did. He pushed her behind him and stood in front of her, ready to protect her in any way possible.
He was ready to kill again.
Ross did not recognize the man standing there, so he was immediately on guard.
The man held his hands up. "I am unarmed. Put the knife down."
Knife? What knife? Ross focused his vision on his hand and saw that it was gripping the hilt of the knife he had strapped to his boot. How had it gotten there so fast? How had he missed that?
"Please," the man said again, "put it down, I mean you no harm."
Ross reluctantly lowered the knife, but kept it in his hand, eyeing the man warily. "What do you want? Who are you?"
"My name is Phillip Doyle, Lucy knows me," Phillip glanced down at James's body. "I am an associate of her uncle's, and I can prove it. But first, we need to work fast. There are no witnesses yet, but we need to move this body before someone does happen by."
Ross stiffened and turned to look at Lucy, who was in such a daze that the current exchange was lost on her entirely. If she knew this man or not, she was not going to say.
"We need to make it look like he was robbed," Phillip said, a look of urgency on his face. "Where's your pistol?"
Ross frowned at him.
"Your pistol, captain!" Phillip insisted. "Give it to me, I will dispose of it. I'll take his valuables and burn them."
"Why are you helping us?" Ross asked as he handed Phillip his pistol. After that, the man set about removing James's corpse of any and all valuable items.
"Never you mind about that, just know that you can trust me," Phillip looked over his shoulder. "Where is Lucy?"
"What?" Ross turned and saw that the spot where Lucy was standing was now vacant. "No... No! Lucy? LUCY!!!"
XXX
Clayton Island, 1843
Ross sat up from his bed and glanced out the window. It was the dead of night, but that was normal. He hardly slept these nights, because closing his eyes meant that he had to relive that night. Having to see her go was hard enough when it happened, without having to see it happen again and again every time he closed his eyes.
Ross threw back his covers and stood to his feet, stretching. His body had not lost its strength, but he still felt emotionally weak. Every day without his beloved Lucy broke him down bit by bit. He thought constantly about that she was with, what she was doing, if she was safe, if she was caught... If she was happy. That's all he wanted. If she was happy and safe without him, then he would find it within him to continue to stay away, even if it was the hardest thing in the world.
He ran a hand over his face and stood at the window, looking down at the crashing waves below. He knew he couldn't stay here forever. Charlotte had done enough for him, but he needed to do something, anything! Sitting around and waiting for an outcome to fall into his lap was torture. He knew he couldn't see Lucy, but he at least wanted to find a way to rectify the situation, in whatever small way.
He knew he couldn't leave without giving Charlotte some sort of explanation. Despite their bad blood, she had taken good care of him, and he was very grateful. He did not want to leave without giving her a proper farewell, but did he dare wait until morning?
I have waited this long, what is a handful of hours?
More time added onto his separation from his love, in his twisted reality, and Ross couldn't handle that. He had stood upon those shores too long in vain. He knew Lucy would never come, but the image of it was what kept him sane these long, cold days.
She has the ring. That is all that matters.
It was an important detail, but it still wouldn't stop adverse events from unfolding. Only he could do that.
And he couldn't wait any longer.
XXX
Belmoran Island
Samuel rolled off Leila, during which time she covered herself with the sheets and shied away from him, trying to make some distance. This was the same cycle every night, or most nights at least. She did her part, she allowed him to think that she was receptive to him when they were together, but afterwards all she wanted was some space.
"Are you not yet with child?" Samuel asked, his voice gruff. That was also something he asked every night.
Leila shook her head, blankly staring up at the ceiling. "No."
"It's been a year, Leila."
"What do you want me to do about it?" She asked, dismissively. "Partake in some heathen voodoo ritual to see if that will do the trick?"
"Don't speak to me that way," Samuel warned her. "I love you, Leila, but I am your husband and you will show me respect."
"Sorry," she whispered, swallowing to keep her tears at bay. She knew she had to hold her tongue with Samuel. After all, it was because of him that her family was secure now. "Honestly, Samuel, I don't know what's wrong. I've gone to the physician, I've taken the tonics, I've prayed, I've tried everything."
Samuel must have sensed her sudden distress, because he rolled over and stroked her face gently. "Your efforts are not lost on me, darling. I know you are just as distraught about this as I am. You just need to try harder is all. Money is not an object; I will pay for whatever you need to get this done."
"I might need some more," she whispered. "Money, that is, for another tonic."
"Of course, darling, take whatever you need. What's mine is yours, you know that."
She looked at him. "Thank you."
"I do love you, Leila."
"I know."
"You will try harder for me?"
She nodded, forcing out a smile that she knew didn't reach her eyes.
Later that night, when Samuel was fast asleep, Leila snuck out of bed and threw on a nightgown. She then placed a shawl around her shoulders and stepped out of the room and into the dimly lit hall.
Most women on Belmoran envied her for securing a marriage with Samuel Worthington. She was now the Lady of Roseway Cove, a title many women coveted. If only they knew what came with such a title... A heartless and obsessive husband, pressure the likes of which she would never wish on her worse enemies, self hatred and constant self doubt... It was all there, inside of her. It was too much.
Leila often thanked her lucky stars that she secured such a marriage. She had played on the fact that Samuel was mad for her and connived her way into a safe and secure marriage, so her brother's scandalous actions would not ruin her and her sister forever. Elise was already married and secure in Dublin, but Leila and Marigold had both been vulnerable to rumor. No one wanted to marry them because their family had so many black marks. Leila was fortunate in that Samuel was willing to look past all that, such was his obsession with her, but now she wished more than anything that a penniless tinker had fallen in love with her instead.
Leila made her way downstairs and then took the turn down to the servant's hall, where one of the footmen, Oliver, was waiting for her, as he was every night.
"Do you have it?" She asked him when she drew closer.
Oliver shook his head. "I do, miss, but not as much as the night before. Dr. Nemo is cutting me off."
Dr. Nemo was a peddler who had come to Belmoran five to six months ago. No one knew his real name, and he mostly kept to himself, but he brought with him various exotic spices, silks and, most importantly, drugs, that many people indulged him. Acts were being put forth to have him thrown off the island, but people how stood against him feared a negative reception upon his leaving. As it was, many were now dependent on his stock.
"How much does he want?" Leila asked. She knew it was dangerous to steal her husband's money, but she was desperate.
"It's not a matter of price," Oliver said. "He just doesn't want to sell to you anymore."
"Because I'm a woman?"
"No, he has other women buy from him."
"Because I haven't gone to see him in person?" Leila pressed, irritated. "You should have explained to him why that's not possible!"
"I did, but he said that it's a security risk to sell to someone he hasn't himself met."
Leila cursed and shook her head. She couldn't sleep without the opium, at least not through the night. It gave her those stolen moments of bliss where she forgot that her name was Leila Worthington.
She was desperate.
"Wait here, let me get some money," she said.
"He doesn't want money, he just wants you to go see him in person, then the drugs will be free of charge."
Leila liked the sound of that. If all she had to do was meet the man to get the drugs, then that was a small price to pay.
"Lead then way, then."
"What about Mr. Worthington?"
"What about him? He's fast asleep, I made sure of that," Leila gestured to the footman. "How far is he from here?"
"Quite far, ma'am. He's down by the docks. We cannot take the carriage, it attracts too much attention."
"Horseback, then?"
"Aye, that would be sufficient."
"Saddle Deria up, then," Leila ordered. "And be quick about it."
As Oliver rushed away to do that, Leila took once glance up the stairs and felt a shiver run up her spine. Samuel was fast asleep up there, completely at peace, while she was down here, desperate to be the same way.
She had thought this would be the best choice for her, to marry the rich man who was in love with her. She needed the security and she had been running out of time. At the time, it was the only way out she saw. But now that she was in the marriage, she realized that there was always another way, she just didn't look hard enough. And now it was too late.
After a few moments, Leila let out a defeated breath and followed Oliver outside, tightening her shawl as she went. She walked slowly, with light steps, and grimaced when the servant's door creaked when she opened it. She slipped out through the smallest crack possible and shut the door behind her. When she was outside, she let Oliver help her on Deria's back. When he himself was settled, Leila wrapped the shawl around her head and Oliver urged chestnut mare into movement, and soon they were both galloping into night, towards Dr. Nemo's lair on the docks.
XXX
Lanfore, Hertfordshire
Robert Quincy took in a deep, solitary breath, in a vain effort to calm his temper. For what seemed like the thousandth time, Sebastian Lucas had cancelled their meeting, which would have occurred at most weekly. Now, Robert was lucky if he managed to meet with the man once a month! Ever since his marriage to Elizabeth Donaldson, now Elizabeth Lucas, Sebastian was tied into Magistrate Donaldson's web tighter than ever. But the lucky part was that no one suspected Robert of being a part of anything. To them, he was the flamboyant uncle of Lucy Quincy who knew nothing about anything. That was an image he had upheld throughout the year, and it was working wonders at the moment.
As far as he knew, in the year that passed, Magistrate Donaldson didn't seem to be doing much of anything. He made arrests, had men thrown in prison, and basically did his normal duties. But there was something about the aura in which he performed those duties that bothered Robert the most. Donaldson acted... Well, normal. As though nothing was wrong. As though he had no plans to speak of. Here Robert was, preparing for the worst, while the enemy himself seemed, in most ways, unconcerned.
Running a hand over his hair, all Robert wanted to do was drink. But he had his nieces to look out for. With Lucy to be betrothed to Fredrick Doyle, Robert knew at least she would be free of any social downfalls, at least in the long run. Robert couldn't well predict the future, but at least he could say with a certain degree of confidence that this betrothal would be, if anything, a barrier the Magistrate would have to fight to break down.
All this to elevate his family, what a sad, sad man. To think he assumed the Quincys would not go down fighting... What a fool.
Robert had to chuckle at that. No, Magistrate Donaldson did not know the Quincy family nearly as well as he should have, and that was to be his downfall if Robert had anything to say about it.
Throughout the days, Robert often wondered if the Magistrate himself was partaking in any activities outside the lines of ethical morality. Of course, he had no eyes in the man's house, and he had James Boatwright to thank for showing him what happened when one attempted to secure such a thing. Robert would have to think quite outside the box in order to find something like this out. All great men had affairs; hell his own seemingly straight arrow of a brother, John, had had a one and sired a child from it!
Thankfully, that was a secret that the Magistrate wasn't aware of. But it was a secret that Robert could use to his advantage. In fact there were many things the Magistrate didn't know, like how James Boatwright died.
He had no idea the events of that night, but Robert knew everything thanks to Phillip Doyle. And, besides Lucy, there was one other person in this whole world that was present on the day of James Boatwright's murder... The murderer himself.
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