Love to the rescue (St Bernadette Files Book 3)

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  BONUS CHAPTER 1:

  THE DUKE’S SECRET DESIRE (ALSO PART OF A COLLECTION)

  KEEP IN TOUCH!

  Copyright © Regina Darcy 2019

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a contemporary work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

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  PROLOGUE

  The house that was now at the centre of the most shocking scandal in Berkshire county was buzzing with activity.

  St Bernadette’s school for young girls was truly in turmoil. In less than six months the school had been through a host of tumultuous changes. The school had lost their beloved headmistress Martha Hemsworth, been subjected to the harsh regime of Robert Savage, a man believed to be Miss Hemsworth’s uncle, had girls disappearing mysteriously as well as having the remaining girls be subject to arranged marriages that were not in their best interest.

  Nettlefold had been rocked to its very core by the depths of the St Bernadette scandal and so many more scandals in the nearby estates. Its residents were rightly so wondering if they knew its inhabitants at all.

  But today, the conversation preoccupying Mr Godfrey who was the village vicar, Mr Albert Jones the local baker and the boarding-house owner Mrs Cordelia Hardcastle was that of the fate of the second eldest Worthington sister, Abigail.

  “Pray tell, is the rumour that Esther and Charity have been reunited true?” Mr Jones asked.

  “Yes. Thank the Almighty both sisters were very fortunate. To have been subjected to the machinations of Roberts Savage and to have come out of it unscathed, both engaged to be married, that is surely a miracle,” Mrs Hardcastle replied.

  “Imagine that, one of them to an Earl and the other to a Viscount. You could not ask for better,” the vicar interjected in agreement.

  “Certainly not. Especially when you look at the poor circumstances those girls came from. Motherless, fatherless and with only a small dowry, their prospect were abysmal,” Mr James added in agreement.

  “I hear Esther Worthington’s husband is in charge of investigating what’s been going on,” the vicar said looking at Mrs Hardcastle. She was known to be a source of excellent information.

  “Yes, he was just here earlier asking questions about Abigail Worthington.”

  “That poor girl. Have they not found out what happened to her yet?” the vicar asked.

  “No, her disappearance is still a mystery,” Mrs Hardcastle replied.

  “Last time I saw her was in the bakery buying scones. She said no-one made scones as good as mine. She was such a sweet girl,” Mr Jones muttered, shaking his head.

  “Yes, and a God-fearing one as well. Unlike most young girls her age she could quote scripture from memory,” the vicar mused.

  “Tragic. I am puzzled as to how not a single person at St Bernadette’s or in the village has seen neither head or hair of her since a couple of months ago. Surely no-one can just disappear off the face of the earth?” Mr Jones exclaimed.

  “No, you are quite right Mr Jones,” Mrs Hardcastle replied. “I recently spoke to one of the servants that was let go from St Bernadette by Robert Savage when he took over. He hinted that it was not beyond the realm of possibility that the poor girl was shipped off to the colonies,” Mrs Hardcastle whispered, looking about her to ensure no-one was overhearing the three of them.

  “Shipped off? What kind of villainess is this? Are you sure you understood him correctly my dear lady,” the vicar said looking as worried as if someone had said all his flock was to be corrupted by the devil himself.

  “Rest assured Mr Geoffrey, I understood correctly. The evil of Robert Savage will turn out to be of a grander scale than anyone can image, you mark my words.”

  With Mrs Hardcastle’s prophetic words ringing in their ears they disbanded, each deeply submerged in their own thoughts.

  Who could have suspected that such villainy was afoot in Nettlefold? Certainly not it’s citizens. Had they known the fate that awaited Abigail Worthington, their dismay and shock would have been thrice what it was.

  The tribulations of the second eldest Worthington sister was of such magnitude that only the most faithful and fortified soul would be able to come out of it unscathed.

  ONE

  3 Months Earlier

  The light in the hold of the ship was dim, but she could see him as he descended and she knew that her auburn hair was like a beacon to her captor. Abigail Worthington tried to shrink lower so that the shadows of the hold and the cluster of the other young women would conceal her, but having spotted her, Randal Blight would not lose sight of her again.

  “You there!” he called. “My scarlet ladybird! Come over here!”

  The other girls eyed her curiously, wondering why she was being singled out for special attention.

  They had all awoken to find themselves on board a sailing vessel, ironically named Virtuous Lady, and before very much time had passed, they had all learned that they had much in common.

  They were without parents and without male relatives who could come to their aid; they lacked financial means and they were all properly brought up. It seemed an unlikely list of traits to seek, the young ladies thought, for a forced ocean voyage.

  Abigail, separated from her older sister Esther and her younger sister Charity, suspected something very sinister was afoot but she didn’t wish to frighten the others. She was a redhead with a temperament to match, and biting her tongue did not come easily to her, but when Polly, a timid girl with enormous blue eyes said that perhaps they were sailing to America to find a better life, Abigail didn’t contradict her.

  The other girls seized upon the statement with hope, failing to question why, if this was the case, were they in the hold of a ship with the cargo. No, something decidedly sinister was going on. For her part, Abigail didn’t want to go to America, she wanted to go wherever Esther and Charity were. Never before had the three of them been separated.

  “Over here, scarlet ladybird!” Randal Blight called again. “Get a move on now!”

  Head held high, Abigail gathered up her skirts and walked to the centre of the hold where the man stood waiting. “Up!” he said, gesturing to the stairs that had been lowered into the hold.

  Abigail was not easily frightened; Esther always said that she didn’t know the meaning of the word fear. That wasn’t entirely true. But she did manage to allow a mask of indifference to set her features into impassivity as she followed her captor out of the hold and up to the deck.

  The deck was bustling with activity as the sailors, who cast a curious glance her way before getting on with their work, went about their duties.

  “Thought you might like a bit of fresh air,” Blight said, leading her to the side of the ship. Below, the blue water glistened in the sunlight. She breathed in the air, which was a welcome change from the stale odours bel
ow deck. Although it was reasonably clean in the ship and the women were not held captive with shackles or bonds as Abigail knew was common on slave ships, they were very conscious of the manner of their travel. They were confined along with barrels of cargo, goods that the captain was delivering to a port somewhere away from England.

  They were fed twice a day; their chamber pots were emptied into a basin which was emptied every morning by a sailor who was none too pleased with the assignment; they were free to talk with one another and to move about as they wished. But they did not know why they were on board or where they were going. Nor did any of them remember how they had gotten on board the ship in the first place.

  Abigail recalled being summoned to the office of Robert Savage, who had taken over the private school that his niece, Martha Hemsworth ran in outer Nettlefold. A servant had brought in tea and as Abigail drank, Mr Savage had explained that he had procured a position for her. She didn’t recall what had happened after that.

  It seemed obvious now that there had been something in the tea to drug her. Miss Hemsworth would never have been party to so base a scheme, but then again Miss Hemsworth was no longer in charge of the school. Her uncle had usurped her place and she was no more than a resident in the house she once owned.

  The school where she had sought to do good work to provide opportunities for girls whose parentage was less than pristine was a safe haven no more. Wringing her hands to try to calm her anxiety, Abigail turned to face Randal Blight.

  “I’ll be bringing up all of you, one at a time at first until I’m sure you’ll behave. We don’t want anyone deciding to take a swim, now, do we?” he chuckled, standing beside her as she leaned upon the railing and drank in the fresh air in great gulps.

  She gave him a cold stare. “No one is likely to choose to go bathing under these circumstances,” she replied.

  “Hard to tell, pretty one. Being below deck, like you are, affects ladies strangely. Some might decide that they can’t suffer it and that they’d rather spend the rest of their lives in Davy Jones’ locker.”

  “I assure you, we are all of good mind and sound spirits. We merely wish to know where we are going and why we are here.” She dared not add ‘against our will’.

  “Curious wench, ain’t you?” he commented, turning around so that his elbows rested upon the railing as he studied her. “Some men like that in a lass. I like spirit, but I don’t like one who sticks her neb where it don’t belong. Keep that in mind.”

  “Are you going to answer my question, sir?”

  “Maybe,” he said in amusement, “but not today. I brought you up first because I reckon you’re the one most likely to cause trouble. And if you do, the others won’t be allowed up on deck. You hear me? It’ll be your fault and I’ll be sure to tell them so.”

  “I have no intention of causing trouble,” Abigail replied, wondering what sort of trouble she could possibly cause unless she managed to incite mutiny among the crew.

  A feat which seemed singularly difficult given that she was one of a shipload of females on a ship with young male sailors who, judging from the looks they cast upon the ladies, were not oblivious to their presence or perturbed by their imprisonment.

  “Good, let’s keep it that way,” he suggested. “It’ll go better all around.”

  “Better for whom?” she inquired.

  “Now, see, that’s what I mean about causing trouble and sticking your neb where it don’t belong,” he said in a cajoling tone of voice that was belied by the hard stare of his narrow eyes.

  “My apologies,” she said, not sounding remorseful in the least. “I was unaware that we had been recruited by the Royal Navy and were forbidden from raising any inquiries.”

  “Remember what I said, my scarlet ladybird,” he said. “Behave yourself or you’ll wish you had, Miss Worthington.”

  She could not refrain from reacting to his use of her name; she hadn’t expected that he knew it.

  He laughed, pleased at her response and assuming that it was a fearful one. Which it was in part, but Mr Blight was clearly a brute and weakness would only entice such a man. She forced her hands to remain still on her sides.

  “I would say that I am pleased to meet you, but that would be an untruth and I am inclined to candour,” she replied.

  He laughed. “I’m inclined to candour as well, Miss Worthington, and I wouldn’t mind keeping you for myself. A feisty bit of muslin such as you would warm a man’s cold bed at night.”

  This time she could not hide the expression of fear that transformed her features from indifference to apprehension. Blight laughed. “I reckon you’ll behave after all now, won’t you, my scarlet ladybird? Won’t you?”

  “Yes,” she replied woodenly.

  He nodded, satisfied by her acquiescence. “Go down now, and send up the next one. You are in charge of making sure that they know not to stir up any trouble when they get up here. If you fail, there’ll be no more of these lovely little excursions on deck.”

  She obeyed him, returning below deck to the hold, where she explained to the others that they were each to be given time on deck so that they could enjoy a bit of sunlight and fresh air. She softened Blight’s warning, telling them that they needed to comport themselves with reticence and obedience because sailors were notoriously superstitious about having females on board a ship.

  “But why are we here?” wailed one of the young women, a plump, pretty girl with a sensual smile and the curves of a female who was accustomed to compliments from men as opposed to being quarantined from them.

  Abigail lowered her voice.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps, as Polly suggests, we are going to America. I shall endeavour to find out as the days go by. But for now, Mr Blight must believe that he can count upon our compliance so it’s best to ask no questions and merely to take advantage of the bit of liberty that we have been offered.”

  The ladies, eager to go on deck, had no problem with this suggestion and were soon chattering to one another as if they were anticipating an outing.

  “That’s not quite true, is it?”

  Abigail turned around. Standing behind her was a slender girl who looked to be no more than eighteen or so, with an unruly mane of thick golden hair and deep blue eyes fringed by black lashes. She seemed to be a dainty damsel who would quail at the sight of a spider, but the inflexion in her voice indicated otherwise, and Abigail suspected that here was an ally.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “Blight seems to me to be a vile man, although I have nothing upon which to base such a speculation. I don’t think we are on board this ship for any noble purpose, but when I pressed him, he warned me to be obedient or else we would all forfeit our time on deck. I could not risk it.”

  The other girl nodded.

  “I’m Margo Leslie,” she said.

  “Abigail Worthington.”

  Margo smiled. “I cannot say ‘tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance in these circumstances, Miss Worthington, but if we were elsewhere, I should be delighted.”

  Abigail returned the smile. “I quite agree. For now, it is best if we keep the others calm and allow them to hope for the best,” she said with a sigh “I would be glad to know where we are headed though.”

  “Polly thinks we’re bound for America where we shall all marry men who own their own land and raise families in the wilderness. I’m less certain. All I know of America is that there’s an uncomfortable amount of wilderness, and wild Indians who seem to have a fondness for scalps that belong to others.”

  “I believe there are cities on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean,” Abigail explained. “The colonials managed to defeat our army, so they must have something other than huts and wilderness, but I admit that I could not tell you precisely what. As I had no desire to leave England, it does not matter to me what is waiting in America or to where we are bound; I want my freedom.”

  “I’m not averse to America,” Margo said. “My father is in Newgate Prison and my
mother is a servant girl. England offers nothing for me. But I prefer to make my own choices and from what I’ve seen so far, our preferences are not being solicited. We’d best keep our wits about us.”

  Abigail nodded grimly.

  “I agree. But you may have more luck than I in beguiling Mr Blight into releasing information,” she said. “If I did not know better, I would be gulled by your dainty looks, and I doubt that Mr Blight will be any the wiser. Perhaps tomorrow or the day after, you will be able to find out more from him. In the meantime . . . ”

  “In the meantime, I shall be as helpless and defenceless as ever a maiden could be,” Margo nodded.

  That night, as they doused the candles—having been given a strict lecture on the necessity of taking care that they make sure that no sparks or flames started a fire—the young women settled into their sleeping area for the night. They were sleeping on the floor of the hold, with folded blankets beneath them for comfort and thin linens above them for covering. It was not luxury, but the young women were not from wealthy homes and did not complain, although Polly said that the movement of the ship upon the waves kept her from falling asleep.

  Abigail, who had never sailed before, was merely relieved to discover that she was not inclined to seasickness. Those who were, remained huddled over their chamber pots as their insides rebelled against the motion of the waves.

  Sleep did not come readily. Where were Esther and Charity? Had they, like her, been taken on board a ship or abducted in another fashion?

  What nefarious role did Robert Savage perform in the cycle of events that had resulted in her captivity on board this ship. How had she become subject to the will of Randal Blight, a man who seemed to be entirely without noticeable traits of honour or nobility?

  Was her virtue in peril and her life in danger?

  Would she ever see England again?

  With so many questions and so much uncertainty, it was hard for Abigail to muster up the famed courage which her sisters so admired in her.