The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 11

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Appointment with the devil.
13.9k words
4.73
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Part 11 of the 12 part series

Updated 08/30/2017
Created 04/27/2016
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astushkin
astushkin
202 Followers

The Doldrums: The Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 11

Appointment with the devil (mf)

Author's note: Several months ago, I left off this story after chapter 9. Thanks to encouraging reader feedback, the muse returned. The story is finished.

Be warned that in the course of this romance, some intense, potentially disturbing scenes arise that are in keeping with the actions of an evil character. If you choose to proceed, please judge them in context of the full plot.

Both his lass and his boat were in the hands of the villainous Strachan.

Liam's heart was filled with cold resolve.

He was waiting in front of the livery stable when it opened, his breath clouding in the cold morning air. With his pocketful of gold, he was able to hire the strongest and fastest mount available. A sack of oats was purchased as well, and loaded into the saddle bag. He dared not try to replace the items he had laid out for the operation, back aboard the Selkie, nor to purchase finer clothes; 'twas best to leave town straightaway.

He selected the shortest route out of Toronto, riding with his hand upon the gun in his coat pocket, not breathing easily till he was alone upon the road north, riding past fields and farmhouses. The last time he had ridden was nigh ten years ago, when a lad in Carrickfergus, but immediately upon swinging his leg over, it all came back to him. With a twinge, he recalled gallops along rugged cliffs overlooking the North Channel. How he would love to show Anya a certain misty woods...to take her down upon the moss and lie between her open thighs, feeding dreamily upon her mouth while the faerie enchantment transported their joined bodies...

Having shouldered on after the loss of his father, his family's land, his homeland, his apprenticeship, and his esteemed mentor, he had considered himself invulnerable to further pain. But now the loss be too profound. For the first time, he was determined to not simply accept what Fate threw his way. No longer did he permit himself to brood over what was happening at the Bourget house, about Strachan's movements. All his focus be upon his own next action --- and the future that was fast bearing down upon him.

He covered the miles to Markham with the stallion at a trot. In nigh three hours, the farmland gave way to gristmills, sawmills, warehouses and buildings. Presently he found himself in the town center, where an array of maple trees formed an orange-red canopy over the square. A man sweeping leaves from the general store walkway gave him directions to Brock Hall.

'Twas upon the east side of town, proving to be a brick building upon an expansive lawn, perhaps three acres square. He reigned the horse to a halt and surveyed the school from across the street. A stately affair it was --- four stories high, with a row of white columns along the front. The grounds were enclosed by a tall wrought iron fence, not unlike that at the Bourget house. He tapped his heels to the horse's flanks, and at a walk, made a circuit of the place along the surrounding streets.

The building and grounds were almost without activity, till he rode past the back of the property and noted a man repairing a carriage wheel in front of an enormous stable. Opposite the school, the streets were lined with modest sized houses and cottages, and scattered carriages and people on foot were about. As Liam rounded the northeast corner and approached the front gate, two men standing upon the street attracted his attention.

They were standing near the closed drive gate of the school, but in their civilian attire, did not appear to be associated with the institution. Nor did they fit in with the background populace, for they were simply standing silently by. Not quite aimlessly though, he sensed as he neared, for they were clearly observing the action round them. They were dressed in suits, but their demeanor did not mark them as gentlemen. As Liam was contemplating them, a brougham drew up along the curb near the gate, and a well-dressed man in a dark cloak stepped down. The two men hastened over to him.

Curious, Liam pulled to a stop across the street from them and dismounted where the parked carriage shielded him from their notice. One by one he lifted his horse's hooves and pretended to be checking them for stones. He was close enough to make out most of their conversation.

"Not a sign of him, sir, and no letters or telegrams."

"And the girl?"

There was a pause.

"Did you get the description from Williams? Dark brown hair, brown eyes --- dainty little thing, beautiful."

"No," the two men answered in unison.

'Twas Anya's stepfather, the bastard! It had to be!

"She may try to come here. If you see either of them, snatch them up at once and wire me. I'm staying at the Queen's Hotel in Toronto."

"Yes, sir."

"And be sure to tell Schmidt and Davis too."

One of the men said something --- Liam couldn't quite make it out.

"They're keeping watch in Toronto," said the stepfather.

Liam mounted the horse again and started him walking. He had a look at the stepfather as he climbed back into the carriage: nigh Strachan's age, but taller; medium build, sandy brown moustache and mutton chops. Liam followed the brougham from a discreet distance, seeing it leave town upon the road that he had arrived on.

Pondering this development, he reasoned that if the stepfather's thugs were watching the school, then they were likely unaware of the skirmish drill, or didn't ken where it be. Either way, he concluded, it altered not his own plans --- he did not intend to seek out information at the school proper.

Back upon the town square, he found a tavern and went inside. 'Twas a lively establishment, filled with working men finishing their mid-day meal. Liam took a seat at the bar and ordered a pint of ale and a bowl of oyster chowder. The barkeep was busy at his service, so Liam waited awhile till the patrons started to thin out. The man was washing glasses behind the bar when he spoke up.

"Are ye familiar with Brock Hall, sir?"

The man glanced up. "It depends --- I know where it is, and the like. I don't mix with the lot; too rich for my blood."

Liam nodded. "I'm sent from Toronto with a message for one of the pupils from his uncle. I'm told that they're all out on a field mission. Do ye ken where that would be?"

The man shook his head. "I've heard of that; apparently it's an annual training exercise. But I don't know where it is." He started wiping a glass. "You know who might be able to help? Tom Neal, the butcher. His son works at the hall."

"Where can I find him?"

"Around the corner on Second Street."

"Then I'd best be on my way; the message is fair urgent." He paid up and thanked the man for his aid.

At T. Neal Family Butcher, he found the shop tended by a lad who directed him to his father, round back through an alley. A large brick outbuilding was connected to the store, and had a side door that stood open. Stepping inside, his immediate impression was of the distinctive odor of blood. He saw an older man in an oilskin apron and rubber boots standing over a headless cow laying upon the earthen floor. A row of carcasses hung from rafters. The man looked up from sharpening a long, narrow knife upon a honing steel. "Store's out front," he said.

"Be ye Tom Neal?"

"I am. Are you looking for me?"

"Aye, that I am. The barkeep at the Owl and Drum said ye might be able to help me."

"Irish lad, are you?"

Liam was caught off guard, unaccustomed to receiving this query without derision. "I am," he replied warily.

"Born and raised?" To Liam's nod he added, "Where about?"

"Carrickfergus, County Antrim."

"Mmm. My father came over in 1847 from County Clare," the man responded.

Liam nodded solemnly. "Aye...is he still alive?"

"No, no. Flu took him some ten years ago. But he lived a good life here --- started this business and passed it on to me." He set the knife upon a workbench. "Well...how can I help you, young man?"

Liam suddenly felt sorry to spin his story to this man. "Well...ye see...my master sent me from Toronto with an urgent message for his nephew --- one of the pupils at Brock Hall. They're all out on field training and I don't know how to find him. The barkeep said ---"

"Watch yourself." Tom Neal was crouching behind the cow, inserting a gambrel into the gam cord of a hind leg. The spreader bar knocked against Liam's boot. Liam squatted and inserted the opposite hook into the other leg, continuing, "The barkeep said ye might ken where they be."

Neal nodded in approval. "You've done this before, I see."

"My da's farm, sheep and lambs."

Together they hoisted the cow aloft with a rope over a pulley upon the rafter. "I can help you," Neal said. "My younger son is a stable boy at the school --- they took him on the drill to look after the horses. They're out in Otter Glen; it's about five miles from here."

As he started skinning the carcass, he gave him directions to the training field.

"Thank ye, Mr. Neal. Thank ye."

"God speed to you," Neal said, looking at him sagely.

Tom Neal's directions were simple enough. Some four miles north, Liam saw the farm with the red painted windmill, and there turned left onto a narrow dirt road. Past the farm's fields, the land to the north was wooded, a vivid patchwork of orange and red maples, darker oaks, and yellow birches. Nigh a mile along, among the trees, he started to see areas of uncultivated field covered in wild grasses. Here he paused; seeing no specific path, he simply steered the horse off the road and into the woods, alert for signs of human activity as they proceeded deeper in. All was still save for the thud of the hooves and crunching of fallen leaves.

Several hundred yards in, as Liam scanned the ground and trees, the horse suddenly snorted and reared partially up. Directly in front of them stood a young lad --- clad in a blue uniform, with a rifle raised to his shoulder and pointed at Liam. He had apparently just stepped out from behind a large oak trunk.

"Halt!" he ordered, his young voice cracking. "Identify yourself."

Liam hoped the gun wasn't loaded --- would it be for a drill? He held his hands up above his head. "My name is Liam Thomas, I be here ---"

"What is the password?" the lad said sternly.

"I be not part of the drill. I'm sent from Toronto to fetch Nicholas Boniface. His sister is taken seriously ill."

The lad eyed him skeptically. "General Ledbetter didn't send you?"

"Nay. Mr. Bourget, Nicholas' uncle sent me."

The boy seemed crestfallen as he understood that this wasn't part of the game. In a sullen voice he said, "I'll take you to the Captain. Dismount your steed and come with me."

Liam did as he was instructed, leading the horse as they proceeded. By and by they arrived at a clearing where nigh a dozen canvas tents were set up, and several horses were tied to trees. Milling about were more uniformed lads, talking, cleaning their rifles, and drawing diagrams in the dirt with sticks. They looked on curiously as Liam was led to the largest tent by his captor. He tied his horse off and stepped under the tent flap held up by the lad. Inside were four older looking lads (the officers in the game?) and an adult man, also in uniform, all sitting round a rickety wood table, studying a map. They looked up. The young lad drew up straight and saluted.

"What is it Private Henson?" the man asked.

"I intercepted this man crossing the south perimeter, sir. He claims to be a civilian, sir."

"Who are you, young man?"

Liam repeated his story. As he spoke he felt their dubious perusal. No great imagination be necessary to ken how he must appear to them: scruffy in his working kit and pea coat, three days of stubble upon his lower face.

"Where is Private Boniface?" the man asked when he finished.

"He's on the other side, sir."

"Take him across. Let Boniface hear him out." He nodded at one the lads at the table. "Lieutenant Bradley, signal a truce."

Bradley and Henson saluted and led Liam out. They took him through the woods till the trees ended at a wide glen. This was apparently the frontline: in the midst of a row of cannons and gatling guns was a flag pole with a blue flag. On the opposite side of the glen, where the woods resumed, a green flag was visible. They approached another adult instructor who was showing a group of lads how to adjust the elevation set upon a cannon. Lieutenant Bradley spoke to him briefly. Then he unrolled a red flag upon a stick and began waving it vigorously. Shortly an answering red flag was seen across the battlefield.

"Let's go," Private Henson said.

They crossed the glen and arrived at a similarly outfitted frontline. Here all the soldier lads were in green uniforms.

"Truce for a civilian messenger for Private Boniface," Henson said, saluting, to the eldest lad.

Soon they were in an encampment in the woods --- analgous to that upon the blue side --- surrounded by curious lads. He was something of an enigma to this group of aristocratic boys engrossed in the study of combat; they were simultaneously awed by his tall, strong physique, and repelled by his common laborer's appearance. To the supervising adult officer's tent he was taken, and again he told his story.

The man considered him for a moment, then stepped to the opening of the tent. "Private Boniface!" he called.

There was a pause, then the canvas flap rustled and a lad entered and stood to attention. "Yes sir." Liam felt a twinge in his heart at the resemblance to Anya. Even had he not been able to discover the last name, he could have picked him out of the class. Dark wavy brown hair, pale skin, a few inches taller than Anya, with a slim strong body nearing manhood.

"This man is here from Toronto with a message from your family."

Nicholas looked at him curiously.

Liam cleared his throat. "Mr. and Mrs. Bourget sent me to bring ye to Toronto. Your sister Miss Anya is taken ill, and your presence is wanted immediately."

"My sister is not in Toronto," he said suspiciously.

Everyone turned to stare at Liam.

"She arrived on Sunday. Your Aunt Elizabeth..." he looked about at the dubious faces. "Master Nicholas, may I speak with you in confidence? 'Tis a delicate matter."

His curiosity apparently getting the better of his distrust, the lad looked enquiringly at the adult officer, who nodded and said, "Stay nearby Private."

Withdrawing to the edge of the clearing, Nicholas stood with his rifle across his body, the muzzle towards the ground. He looked Liam over. "What ails my sister? Has she had a physician?" he asked.

"She's well; dinna worry. I needed a story to get me inside your camp. The true story is too delicate to tell all and sundry."

Nicholas narrowed his eyes --- they were amber-brown like Anya's. "Who are you? I don't remember you among my aunt and uncle's household."

"My name is Liam Thomas." He looked intently at the boy. "Nicholas, listen right well: your sister Anya ran away from Rochester last week. I met her when she hired my boat to take her to Toronto. She told me all about your family: your father, your brother Lucas, and your mother's remarriage. She ran away because your stepfather had arranged a marriage for her with Mr. D---."

Nicholas nodded. "My mother wrote that she was to marry him. I couldn't believe it. She could have had her pick from dozens of men. Why would she marry that old degenerate?"

"Your stepfather threatened to harm you if she didn't choose to either...become his mistress or marry Mr. D---. She agreed to the marriage initially, but ran away when she could."

The lad flushed in anger, and started pacing back and forth. "The bastard! I should have called him out! I should have! I noticed his unseemly attentions to her this summer."

"You're but a lad, 'twas not your place to fight a grown man...but dinna worry, she escaped him. Now the twist be that your aunt and uncle arranged for her to marry Douglas Strachan."

Nicholas stopped pacing and looked at him confused. "Mr. Strachan? He is our uncle's friend who was so kind to us after our father died."

Liam shook his head. "A wolf in sheep's clothing, so he is. He has persuaded her to marry him by offering his protection of ye from your stepfather."

Nicholas stared at him with dawning comprehension. "So she is marrying him to protect me?"

"Aye, lad. If I can get ye somewhere safe from your stepfather and Strachan, then she will see that she need not marry against her will."

Nicholas nodded slowly, then he looked up at Liam perplexed. "Why are you doing this?"

Liam straightened. "Because I love her," he said simply. "I want her to marry --- or not marry --- of her own free will...and if it be marriage she wants, then I hope she will have me."

To Nicholas' credit, he looked Liam in the eyes, with no downward glance at his rough clothes. He nodded again, then said: "I'll go talk to my commanding officer."

Within a half hour they were on the road to Toronto, Nicholas having fetched his rucksack from a tent, and his horse. They made a detour round Markham, lest the stepfather's men be about. As they rode, Liam acquainted him with additional details about his stepfather's presence in the area, the men watching the school, the suppression of mail and telegrams to Nicholas, and the apparent plan for Nicholas to be fetched to attend the wedding, to guarantee Anya's compliance. Nicholas was all astonishment. "I knew nothing of all this." He shook his head.

"Aye. 'Tis shocking what can lurk in the soul of a grown man. Too soon you'll know right well."

They arrived in Toronto after nightfall. Liam took him to the inn where he had stayed the previous night, having paid in advance for two rooms. "I'm going to fetch Anya, and bring her to ye here," he told Nicholas. "Stay in your room with the door locked. Your name is Franklin Webster to anyone who asks. Dinna open the door unless they call ye by that name. Franklin Webster, that's the password." Liam gave him a grim smile. "If I be not back within twenty-four hours...well...then 'twas all for naught, ye can go to your aunt's house."

"Let me go with you and help," Nicholas pleaded.

Liam shook his head as he closed the shutters over the windows. "Nay, lad. We need ye safe here if Anya is to have her freedom." He pointed at the lock upon Nicholas' chamber door. "What be your name, then?"

"Franklin Webster."

"Aye, lad. Fate willing, I will be back tonight."

*****

There were few people and carriages upon the dark street as Liam approached the Bourget house with the horse at a walk. From the corner, he made out the figure of a uniformed policeman standing outside the closed drive gate. Instead of turning onto Roxborough Drive, he continued straight and turned at the street at the back of the row of houses. He had anticipated the presence of guards upon the grounds, but a peeler was a new wrinkle. What would he find at the back of the house?

Dismounting a couple of houses before the Bourget's, he looped the reins round a gate post, and continued upon foot. He saw no one upon the street ahead of him. At the neighboring house, he climbed over the rear fence and crept up to the wrought iron bars separating the two properties. Crouching behind a stone bird bath, he stared over into the Bourget's garden. No activity was immediately apparent. For over a half hour he remained motionless in the neighbor's garden, scanning the dark lawn. To his confusion, he saw no one patrolling the grounds. As he watched, he sensed that something was different from the previous nights he had been here. Suddenly he realized that the house was almost entirely dark. There be a few lit windows in the top story, and light emanating from basement window wells at the rear of the mansion, but the first and second floor windows were dark.

astushkin
astushkin
202 Followers