Twenty-two

The cab continued at breakneck speed, and constant turns threw the two ladies from side to side. Gwendeline had no idea which way they were headed; lights flashed past the carriage window, then disappeared too rapidly to be identified. She heard the shouts of angry pedestrians as the vehicle nearly ran them down. Finally, the coach slowed, and Gwendeline pulled herself up into the seat, helping Miss Brown up and gripping the side strap firmly. Now that she could see out, she concluded that they’d passed into one of the poorer parts of town. The streets were narrow and filthy.

The jolting and swaying started again on the cobbled road. Gwendeline caught glimpses of the river between buildings, and they finally halted beside one of the docks along the Thames. Blane jumped down, holding the gun on them through the open door. When they’d descended under his direction, Blane slammed the carriage door and threw the cab driver some coins. Soon, the three of them stood alone at the head of the pier. Blane gestured down it toward the open water. “We go this way, ladies,” he said, and they moved reluctantly with him in the near-darkness.

The dock was not long; they soon reached the end and stood facing a dilapidated ship moored there. One lantern hung at the top of the gangplank, but otherwise it seemed deserted. Blane raised the pistol and pointed up the gangway. “Up,” he snapped.

Gwendeline lifted her skirts and stepped onto the narrow board. It gave with her weight, and she retreated nervously. “Go on,” snarled Blane. He cast glances behind them, as if he expected pursuit at any moment.

Miss Brown took a long look at him, then walked forward stiffly and started up to the ship. The plank swayed, but she ignored it after one involuntary tremor. Gwendeline followed her, with Blane close behind, and before long they all stood on deck. A fat dirty man in a torn shirt and dark trousers jumped up from the large coil of rope on which he’d been reclining and spoke to Blane. “’Ere. You never said nothing about no females.”

“Hold your tongue,” Blane replied. “And tell the captain to get this scow under way. I told you to be ready.”

“Scow, is it?” the man said, his tone sharpening.

“Just get us moving,” Blane said. He directed the two ladies toward the bow of the ship. The man muttered to himself, then began to shout for his fellow crew members to raise anchor. Blane escorted the women through a short passageway past the main cabin, pushed them into one of the tiny chambers beyond, and locked the door.

As his footsteps retreated, Gwendeline and Miss Brown sank down on the narrow bunk that extended along the rear wall of the cabin. “I suppose he’s headed across the Channel,” Miss Brown said. “He cannot mean to stay in England after tonight.” She turned and tried to peer out the small porthole behind her. “It’s too dark to see anything, but rescue is on the way, I’m certain. We need only keep calm and wait.”

“How will they find us?” Gwendeline replied.

“They will,” replied Miss Brown positively.

Gwendeline clasped her hands and twisted them together.

The ship was moving out into the river current now. Looking through the porthole, they could see lights on the near shore. The vessel gathered speed in the current, and Gwendeline watched London slip past them. For some time, they sat in silence, listening to the shouts of the sailors and their footsteps on the deck above. Gwendeline couldn’t believe this had happened just as everything had seemed to be working out perfectly.

They had been moving for about an hour when Blane returned to the cabin. He looked a little less disheveled and much more complacent. “Well ladies,” he said as he stood before them. “Tomorrow we’ll be in France, and I will have the pleasure of showing you my house there. A recent acquisition but quite comfortable.”

“You must know you can’t hold us prisoner,” said Miss Brown.

Blane smiled. “Our minds run in the same channels, madam. I’ve been considering what to do with you. It is a problem I hadn’t foreseen, I must admit. But I’m sure we can hit upon some solution.”

“Let us go?” cried Gwendeline. “We’ve never done anything to harm you.”

Blane turned to her, his smile widening. “Do you know, that was exactly my thought a few moments ago? I realized that it’s Merryn I wish to settle with, not you. I began to remember your mother and how like her you are.” His eyes briefly held a faraway look. “Thus, I came to a decision.” He stared at Gwendeline; his expression made her shrink back. “I believe we will be married, my dear,” he finished.

“What?” cried both ladies at once.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Miss Brown.

“I won’t,” insisted Gwendeline simultaneously.

Blane watched them with some amusement. “It is, of course, a plan that requires discussion,” he said. “It’s very sudden, I know.”

Gwendeline had regained her composure. “I’ll never marry you,” she said in a tone that left no room for doubt. “I’d rather die.”

“Of course you will not,” added Miss Brown. “He cannot force you to do so, Gwendeline.”

Blane’s expression hardened. “This is a rather private matter. I believe Gwendeline and I should talk it over alone.” He stepped forward and grasped Miss Brown’s forearm, lifting her to her feet. “You will excuse us, I know.” He opened the door and pushed her into the passage, addressing someone Gwendeline couldn’t see. “Take her to the next cabin and lock her in.” And then Miss Brown was gone, and Blane was closing the door once more. He sat down beside her on the bunk. “That’s better.”

Gwendeline moved to the extreme opposite end, gathering her skirts around her. Her ball gown was spotted with black stains and torn in at least one place, and her curls hung crookedly about her face, but she summoned all the dignity she possessed and said, “You can say nothing that would make me wish to marry you.”

Blane was smiling again. Gwendeline was beginning to hate and fear that smile. “Wish to?” he said. “No, I probably can’t make you wish to marry me. But that is beside the point. I think you will do so, wishes aside.”

“But why should you want to marry me? I don’t believe you even like me.”

His lip curled. “Not really,” he replied. “You are both too like and too unlike your mother. You seem to have inherited all of her mulishness and none of her interesting qualities. I don’t wonder Annabella rarely saw you.”

“You see, we should never suit,” she said.

Blane looked at her incredulously for a moment, then burst into loud laughter. “Suit!” he echoed with amazement. “She thinks we should not suit.” Gwendeline watched him uneasily, as he gradually composed himself again. “I wish to marry you for one reason only,” he said then, “to get my revenge on Merryn and all of society.” He leaned back against the side of the ship. “You’ve come to symbolize polite society for me,” he added thoughtfully. “I shall subjugate you. And Merryn will be helpless, forced to look on and suffer.” He clenched a fist exultantly. “It’s a splendid scheme. I wonder I did not think of it before.”

“But I’ll never marry you,” said Gwendeline.

Blane turned to survey her, his eyes hooded. “Ah yes,” he said. “There is that little problem.” One corner of his mouth went up. “Don’t you think these scruples are a little melodramatic, really? You made no demur about living under the protection of Lord Merryn for the season, why pretend to such nicety now?”

Gwendeline stiffened. “I was not living under anyone’s ‘protection,’ as you call it. Lord Merryn was only one of…”

“Surely you’re not going to trot out that tired story of ‘a group of your father’s friends’ once more,” interrupted the man with a sneer. “It will not wash, my dear. These generous friends do not exist, and I cannot believe you are so naive or so stupid as to think that they do. Don’t talk such fustian.”

“They do exist,” insisted Gwendeline. “They wish to remain anonymous, but they did help me.”

Blane smiled. “Anonymous, is it? Very convenient. Why should they wish it? Particularly when Lord Merryn is so open about his aid.” He shook his head. “No, even you cannot be so gullible.”

The girl set her jaw and looked away from him. “I can’t think why I’m arguing with you; after all, I don’t care what you believe. And you’re mistaken. I talked with one of my benefactors, and he assured me that he had been one of this group.”

Blane looked surprised. “Who?”

“Sir Humphrey Owsley,” replied Gwendeline triumphantly.

Mr. Blane’s face cleared. “Owsley? Impossible. Or”—he paused and looked at her narrowly—“was Merryn there?”

Gwendeline shook her head.

Blane frowned. “No? Well, perhaps he’d gotten to him by then. You should be flattered, my dear. He laid a complicated snare for you.”

Gwendeline looked down, letting her disheveled curls fall across her face, and folded her arms to hide the trembling of her hands.

Blane shrugged. He stared at her for such a long time that Gwendeline shifted nervously. “Miss Brown is an estimable lady,” he said then. “She is very dear to you, is she not?”

Gwendeline nodded warily.

“It would be a great pity,” he continued, “if some accident should befall her.” Gwendeline grew cold. “On a journey such as this, for instance, in a ship full of common ruffians, far from all her friends.”

“You are despicable!” Gwendeline found herself straining to detect any unusual noises on the ship. She heard nothing.

Blane was unperturbed. “Perhaps now you understand why I believe you will agree to marry me? These other concerns are quite irrelevant. If you continue to refuse, I seriously doubt that your friend will reach France alive.”

Gwendeline stared at him, trying to discover some sign of wavering in his face. There was none. “You cannot mean that,” she faltered. “Even you could not be so cruel.”

“No?” He smiled.

Gwendeline collapsed in the corner of the bunk.

“We’ll be wed as soon as we reach the Continent,” said Blane, and left, locking the door behind him.

Gwendeline remembered little of the rest of the voyage. She lay on the bunk, feeling feverish and miserable, for an interminable time. After a while, the ship began to toss and shift from side to side. She thought at first that she would be sick, but then she became accustomed to the motion. It seemed to echo the rise and fall of her emotions as she alternately hoped for and despaired of rescue. She retreated into a kind of tortured dream, repeatedly reliving the ruin of her life.

Hours later, the tossing lessened, and Gwendeline roused herself. She looked out the porthole, and in the predawn light she could see that they had entered a harbor. This must be France.

It seemed to take a long time for the ship to traverse the harbor and tie up at the dock, but even so, the interval was much too short for Gwendeline. When the vessel was moored at last, she turned toward the door of her cabin, expecting to hear Blane approach at any moment. But no one came. She was left alone to pace about the tiny room and worry about Miss Brown. Where was she?

When Gwendeline was on the verge of pounding frantically on the door to attract someone’s attention, she heard footsteps at last. She waited tensely as the key turned in the lock and the door opened. Blane entered, a dark garment over his arm. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “You will want this.” It was a dark blue cloak. “Put it on,” Blane said impatiently. “You must cover that dress. It will attract unwelcome attention.” Gwendeline brightened a little at this, but Blane noticed and crushed her small hope. “Miss Brown will remain aboard this ship until we’re ready to leave town. The captain has specific instructions concerning her.” He took back the cloak and draped it about her shoulders. “You would be well advised not to try anything foolish.” He offered her his arm, and she took it listlessly. As long as he held Brown prisoner, she could do nothing, she thought. She was trapped.

They walked out on deck, and Blane helped her down the gangplank. Once on shore, they went swiftly away from the dock and into the town. They did not enter the busy central sector, however, but kept to the poor area near the harbor. Much too soon for Gwendeline, they paused before a small stone church. “Here, my dear, is the site of our wedding,” Blane said. “But first we must stop across the way. I regret I cannot leave you for a moment to settle this detail.” He led her across the street to a low tavern and pushed the door open. He beckoned to two men drinking within, who responded somewhat sullenly, and returned to the street. “Our witnesses,” he remarked in response to her puzzled look. The men came out, and together the four of them entered the church.

A man in vestments awaited them at the altar. A large crucifix hung above him. The chamber was high and dark and smelled slightly of stale incense. Gwendeline paused. “Is this a Catholic church?” she asked before she thought. “I am not Catholic.”

Blane looked at her sardonically. “Does it matter?” he replied.

Realizing that the kind of ceremony that joined her to this monster was, after all, irrelevant, Gwendeline subsided.

The man at the altar appeared nervous and gestured for them to hurry. He looked about the room and fingered the book he held. “Come along,” he said finally.

“You speak English,” Gwendeline remarked in surprise.

The man looked vexed, glanced toward Blane, then nodded shortly. He opened the book to a place marked in it and again gestured to them to approach. They stood before him at the altar, the two witnesses behind them, and he started to read the marriage service.

The forms of the ceremony were a little strange to Gwendeline, but familiar enough to make her heart sink. She’d never expected to hear these words in such circumstances. She nearly choked on her own responses, but the priest remarked neither on this nor on her bedraggled appearance. Blane spoke the phrases firmly and very loudly, it seemed to Gwendeline. She almost imagined that they echoed through the building. Then it was over. They signed a piece of paper, which Blane then put in his coat pocket, and the witnesses returned to their drinks. The priest disappeared through a door behind the altar, and Gwendeline was left alone with her new husband. She felt sick.

Blane observed her despairing expression with sardonic amusement. He held out his arm once more. “Shall we go, Mrs. Blane?” he asked.

Revolted, Gwendeline walked down the aisle and out of the church.

As they came into the street, a seaman from the ship ran up and said a few words to Blane. Blane reacted quickly. Instead of turning back toward the ship, he began to hurry her farther along the street in the opposite direction, and this roused Gwendeline as nothing else could have. “What are you doing? We must go back to the ship and release Brown.”

He took her arm in a tight grip. “I’ve given orders that she be released. Come along.”

Gwendeline dragged her feet. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth,” he answered impatiently. “She’s free. You didn’t think I’d take a chaperone on my honeymoon, surely?” Blane gave her no time for thought but hurried her along the street to an inn a little way ahead. There, he began to speak very rapid French to the proprietress, and before Gwendeline could do much more than marvel at his fluency—for she could understand nothing of what was said—he had been given a key and was urging her up the stairs. She started to protest, but he practically carried her up and across a hallway into a small bedroom, pushed her down on the bed, and strode out, locking the door behind him.

It was too much. It seemed to Gwendeline that she’d been pushed into rooms, imprisoned, and left alone staring at locked doors too many times. A high thin laugh, whose sound frightened her, filled the room then, and it took her a moment to realize that this alien noise was issuing from her own throat. When she did, she covered her mouth with her hand and looked wide-eyed into the mirror on the opposite wall.

The figure staring back at her was not comforting. Her hair was hopelessly tangled; her face was smudged; and her dress a shambles. But her expression was the most unsettling. Out of a white face, dark-circled, green-blue eyes blazed. There was desperation in them.