A Curious Beginning

“Abduction is a strong word,” he remonstrated. “You have not been bound or injured. I have merely taken steps to ensure that we can speak without interference. You have left me no choice. I have much to tell you, Miss Speedwell.”


I wondered whether to acknowledge that I knew my mother’s identity—or that I surmised he was my uncle. But before I could make up my mind upon the point, he glanced to Stoker’s recumbent form.

Stoker had begun to have a fit, his legs kicking as his hands tightened into fists that drummed rhythmically against the deck. Mr. de Clare signaled to Silent John, who pulled the sack from Stoker’s head. His eyes were rolled back into his head and his lips were drawn back in a snarl as he foamed a little at the mouth.

“We have no need of him and he has proven an encumbrance,” Mr. de Clare said with an expression of distaste. He flicked his gaze to Silent John. “We must complete Miss Speedwell’s liberation from this fellow. Drop him overboard.”

If I had any doubts as to his villainy, that decided me. Without hesitation, Silent John lifted Stoker as if he weighed no more than thistledown and dropped him over the side of the boat. He made a hefty splash as he went in, and I jumped to my feet.

“Calm yourself, Miss Speedwell,” Mr. de Clare instructed. “I do not know precisely how far he has exercised control over you, but you need fear nothing. He is gone, and we are here to protect you.” He took a step closer to me, but I had chosen my moment well. I took my hand from my pocket, brandishing the tiny revolver Lady Cordelia had given me.

“Stand back,” I commanded.

Mr. de Clare stopped, raising his hands in astonishment. “There is no need for this, my dear. Now, put the revolver down and let us talk.”

“I am quite finished talking to you,” I told him.

He jerked his head to Silent John, who began to advance upon me. I sighed. I had no wish to shoot the fellow in spite of what he had done to Stoker. I lifted my hand and pulled my hatpin free. The wind snatched at my violet-trimmed hat and carried it off just as Silent John reached for my revolver. I let him take it, luring him near, and as his fingers closed over the weapon, I drove the hatpin into his arm, pushing hard until I felt it strike bone.

He gave a deep cry of animal anguish and stumbled backward, but I already had one foot upon the rail. I gave my uncle a quick salute and dove overboard, letting the noisome green water of the Thames close over my head.

The river was far colder than I expected, the shock of it driving the air straight out of my lungs. I kicked to the surface, or at least I meant to, but my skirts, heavy with water, dragged me back again. I realized then that I had miscalculated my strength as a swimmer when fully clothed. I had just begun to consider the very real possibility of death by drowning when I felt something hard clasp me about the waist. The water was far too murky to see, but I knew that arm. It settled firmly around me, urging me backward on a hard male torso, and I relaxed against him. He pulled us calmly and easily to the surface. I glanced up to see we were just behind the stern of the boat.

Stoker, perfectly restored to health and sense, put a finger to his lips and held me up as I gulped in several deep breaths. Above us but looking in entirely the wrong direction, Edmund de Clare and his henchmen searched the river frantically. Stoker pointed to the steps of the Naval College a little distance away, and held up three fingers. I breathed in, and he held up two. I took one last precious lungful of air and he pulled me below the water again. With complete calm he towed me silently towards the steps of the college. I willed him on, painfully aware of how slender a chance we had of success. It would be but a matter of seconds before Mr. de Clare realized there was only one direction we could have gone.

Halfway to the steps, I felt a burning in my chest, my lungs stale and empty. I pushed at Stoker, and he led me to the surface of the water. I looked back as I sputtered and gasped to find I had underestimated my uncle. He was already in pursuit, ordering his men to turn the boat and give chase. The worsening weather had driven the pleasure boaters from the river. There were few craft about, and none it seemed within hailing distance.

“We cannot make it,” I burbled to Stoker. “At least you cannot if you are burdened with me. Go on. He shall not harm me, but if he gets his hands on you again, he will surely kill you.”