Haven house, p.4
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Haven House, page 4

 

Haven House
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  “She still doesn’t speak?” Gloriana enquired of Ms. Hemingswood, who sighed.

  “She does when it’s family or someone she trusts, but there are so few.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the child who’d gathered the others near. “Why isn’t she in school?”

  Ms. Hemingswood stared at me. “You’re new to Haven?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’ve been here since I was young. Master at Haven House—”

  Gloriana placed her hand on mine. “Letitia tried to enrol Francesca, but the school was controlled by the church. They refused to accept a ‘fallen child’ within the congregation, so she homeschools them.”

  I bit my lip. Though I’d lived in this town almost my entire life, I hadn’t truly seen the underbelly of it. I was just now coming to understand that for all my fear and hatred, I’d been sheltered from the very worst.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Hemingswood.”

  She nodded. “I’m not worried for me but for the children. They don’t deserve to be ostracised because of their birthplace and the father.” She wiped her face, which was suddenly bathed in sweat. She slumped, hand to her chest, and the oldest child, Francesca, set the younger ones aside and hurried to her side.

  “Mama?” There was a wealth of fear in her voice, the way it cracked on the last syllable almost too much for me to bear.

  “I’m fine. Just a little turn.” She straightened, though her lips appeared bloodless and her face told of the strain. “Go back to the little ones, dear.”

  Gloriana passed the woman the cup from the table beside her.

  Letitia took a sip, wiped her face with a handkerchief she’d retrieved from her pocket, and glanced at Gloriana. “Mrs Simmonds told me of your offer. It’s most gracious, but—”

  Gloriana shook her head. “No. But it will keep your children together, housed, and will assure their education. Please accept this offer.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what it was, but decided it would be best to wait until I had Gloriana’s total attention in the carriage.

  “I couldn’t…” Letitia whispered.

  “For the children,” Gloriana urged.

  “But who will escort them?” She teared up, and my heart practically broke for the woman.

  “One of our family. If not myself, then my husband or his sister, Amaryllis.” She waved in my direction.

  I started upon hearing Gloriana use my name.

  “The sheriff will also accompany them,” Gloriana whispered.

  The woman’s shoulders slumped. “When?”

  “Only when you’re ready. But there is paperwork. Guardianship agreements and so on. It must be ironclad to protect the children.”

  It all sounded so cloak-and-dagger, but I realised if what I guessed was happening was correct, then she clearly feared for the safety of the children. I had a lot to ask Gloriana about on the way home.

  A sheaf of papers was withdrawn from the bottom of the large basket Gloriana had carried in. She presented them to Letitia and explained what they meant. With a shaking hand, the woman signed every page. Then I acted as a witness.

  “They will be safe, Letitia. I will ensure it,” Gloriana vowed as we took our leave soon after.

  We climbed back into the carriage, but not before I caught sight of another standing on the corner watching us. Junior.

  Once safely within, I told Gloriana, who frowned. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. Now please explain. What are you doing with the children? I assume from the paperwork that you plan to remove them and send them away when Letitia passes on?”

  With lips tight, Gloriana nodded. “We discovered early on, of the women who were ostracised, the church usually swept in and removed the children. In the beginning, we had no legal instrument to fight the church. After we lost several children, we realised there must be an agreement. Since then, Andrew ensured we had a lawyer we could call upon. He drafts the guardianship papers, which we then send to the governor. Only once did Master try to overturn them. We beat him, and he now knows we mean business.”

  I bit my lip. “You want me to accompany them.”

  There wasn’t an answer, simply a long look, which curdled my insides.

  “What?” I questioned.

  “I cannot, Amaryllis. Not now. I must limit for some time the amount of travelling I undertake. On doctor’s orders.”

  “You’re ill?” I leaned forward and took her hand.

  “No. Not exactly. Only increasing.”

  “Oh…” Stupid thing to say, but no other words crossed my mind.

  “It’s all right, Amaryllis. We have been hoping and praying for this miracle. But it makes it harder to attend to my ladies.”

  “I see. I would be happy to accompany them, but do I need the sheriff?” My fingers suddenly became quite interesting as I looked down. The tall, long-haired man had a barely contained humanity to him, and I wasn’t sure time in his company would be easy.

  Gloriana laughed. “Yes.” But then the smile died away. “A lone woman travelling with children is a target. With a man, and furthermore one with a badge? You will be as safe as we can make you.”

  “On the train, then.”

  Now her smile returned. “Of course not. We’ll use a dirigible.”

  “A what?” This was a word I’d never heard before.

  “You’ll learn.” Gloriana’s eyes fairly danced with laughter. “Later.”

  Later. The word my life revolved around.

  Dinner was sombre. Andrew arrived home, and he closeted himself in his office until Gloriana knocked on it and disappeared within. When they both exited the room, her face was red and blotchy, his lips set in a line of pure anger.

  I took my seat at the small round table and ate in silence. The food was delicious, but my stomach knotted, wondering what might have upset them both so much. Once the meal was done, dishes tidied away, Andrew stood and closed the doors to the room.

  I sat stock-still.

  He took his place at the table. “Junior has an agreement signed by our father. It says there is no way you can be released from their custody.” He gazed at me, long and hard. “I won’t send you back there, but anything less is illegal, according to his lawyers. I can and will fight it. Eventually I’ll win, because ownership of another being under our constitution is neither binding nor legal.”

  Bile rose in my throat. Junior thought he owned me. He’ll make me marry him…

  I dashed from the room, heading for the nearest bathroom, and threw up, sour spittle coating my tongue as I gripped the marble. “Noooo…” But looking at my reflection, I knew everything Andrew said was probably true.

  “I don’t want to go back to him.” Even as I mumbled the words, my brain was forming ideas.

  I could flee.

  You have no money, no contacts, and nowhere to go, my brain unhelpfully countered.

  A gentle rapping sound intruded on the fraught moment.

  I wiped my face. “Coming,” I croaked, then turned and opened the door. Gloriana stood there, sorrow heavy on her face.

  “Andrew and the sheriff are here. You should come back to the dining room.” She took my hand and led me like a child to the room I’d left in a hurry mere moments before.

  I took my place at the table and noted the grim look on the sheriff’s face. “Miss Amaryllis, I’m so sorry to hear the news.” He glanced at Andrew, as if seeking his guidance.

  Andrew nodded. “You should tell her everything, Damien.”

  The man sighed, scooped up the drink that Evie had delivered, and took a sip of the wine. “I am Damien Whitmore. I’m an agent for the Presidential Rescue of Innocents Endangered by Spirituality Task Force. We are known as agents of PRIEST.”

  I stared at the man, not for the first time surprised by him, his presence, or what he spoke of.

  “I was sent here to investigate the Haven Church, or sect, as your brother Andrew rightly titles it. My job is to infiltrate, gather data, and ensure the safety of anyone considered ‘at-risk.’”

  He inhaled, and I watched the flare of his nostrils, the way his hands clenched on the table, as if every tiny aspect of him were vitally important to my continued survival.

  “Miss Amaryllis, your brother contacted me tonight when he received this missive. I’ve read it, and your safety is paramount to…” He stilled for a moment. “I can remove you from this situation while my men come in and deal with it, but that leaves Letitia Hemingswood’s children without support.”

  In his eyes, I read pain. “I’m willing to go back—” My voice broke as I stood. “I will go back if it ensures everyone else’s safety.” I would. Because anything less than helping would be akin to saying this was okay. I knew what I’d be going back to, but I accepted it. As if in sympathy, my body ached like I’d been physically struck. “Just… when it’s over, get me back, okay?”

  Gloriana sobbed in silence into a white handkerchief, and Damien Whitmore’s face turned thunderous. “No. That is not acceptable.”

  Andrew shook his head. “I agree. This will not happen. I forbid it!”

  Heat seared the skin of my face, and tears dribbled down my cheeks. “If it’s the only way—"

  “No, Miss Amaryllis. We need to hold out just long enough for Letitia to send her children. I have a plan.”

  “What?” I barely breathed the word as a tiny seed of hope took root. I took a deep drink from my glass, though I grimaced at the bitterness on my tongue.

  “Andrew has agreed to send you to the governor. He owes your brother a debt, I believe. We get you there, and I stay with you. Rafe Sargeant, my second, will remain behind and assume duties until Letitia is ready to send the children. I’ll send a replacement back. We’ll claim we’re running off together. I have contacts and places we can stay. We just need to hold out until PRIEST brings charges against Haven.”

  It was all too much. I rose, my head spinning. “I don’t…” The world greyed at the edges. “I feel…”

  The ground rushed up to meet me. Before my eyes closed, I heard, “forgive me, Ammy.”

  Chapter Four

  I opened my eyes, the sensation of grogginess and weight warring with the movement. “What’s…?”

  “Be still” came a voice. One I knew.

  Sheriff Whitmore.

  “Where am I?” I sat up, though I still felt a little woozy.

  “On your brother’s dirigible.” His voice sounded deeper, tense.

  “What?” I threw off the last vestiges of physical unsteadiness and pushed to my feet, noting the small room decorated more like a boudoir. The chaise I’d been lying on was pink and cream, elaborately carved, and matched the two armchairs nearby. I looked ahead, noted a window, and rushed toward it.

  When I reached it, I nearly threw up and backed away. “We’re in the air!” I squeaked out.

  I whirled, and he steadied me, capturing my fluttering hands and drawing me close.

  He smelled of sandalwood and horse leather.

  He felt hard, like a granite boulder. Hard and immovable.

  He radiated heat and something else that left me feeling weak and needy.

  I scrunched my eyes shut. “Where are we going? What have you done?”

  He laughed a little, the rumble echoing through his body, and I felt frissons of a strange sensation in my nerves. “We are indeed in the air. The dirigible, Pride of Coultihan, is taking us to the governor of Scottsvale. With Andrew’s permission, I’m removing you from Haven until the agents can do their work.”

  My nerves quivered and jumped, which was somehow telegraphed to the sheriff.

  “Before you ask, your brother and his wife are safely at home.” He smiled at me.

  In response, a slow curl of heat formed in my belly. Through my confusion, I recognised this was something out of the ordinary and broke away. “I think… Is there some way to perhaps get some tea?” What’s wrong with my voice? It sounds downright shaky!

  His smile melted me further. “Of course. If you just pull the bell, a server will be in.”

  I scooted away and grabbed the pull. Within a moment, the door opened, and a young man edged inside. “Ms. Coultihan, I’m pleased to see you’re feeling better. How may I assist you?”

  “Could we have a pot of tea and two cups?”

  He smiled. “Of course. Milk or lemon?”

  I blinked. “Milk, please.”

  The boy scooted off, and I turned to the sheriff. “Milk? In the air? They can do that?”

  Sheriff Whitmore grinned. “Of course. I’m sure when he gets back, we can talk him into a tour of the facilities.”

  “What? Uh…” I was surprised by his reply and shook my head to clear it. “Why?”

  “Because we’re in the VIP suite, your brother instructed them to give you whatever we need, and it’s what I’d do.”

  That dangerous glint in his eye stole my breath. I turned away. “Is there a bathroom? Somewhere I could freshen up?”

  “Straight ahead. Push the panelling and the door will open.” His voice contained amusement, and I marched off without answering because I didn’t quite know how to cope. The door swung wide, and I entered a large and well-appointed bathroom. The tiles gleaming, a blinding white contrasted against dark wood.

  I set about my business, then used the brush on the side and tidied my hair. Funny, before living with my brother, it wouldn’t have bothered me, but now…

  Or is it the sheriff? a sly whisper in my brain asked.

  “Stop it.”

  Gazing into the mirror, I saw myself. Pleasant enough to look at. Nothing about me had changed, and yet…

  These waters could swamp you, my psyche added.

  I sighed, turned away from the looking glass, and re-entered the salon. The sheriff waited, his back to me, and I took a moment to study him. Tall and muscular with long dark hair. An imposing figure.

  Something about his air spoke of danger and primitive emotions barely held in check. Though when he’d talked about Letitia’s children, a softness overlaid that harsh quality he exuded.

  What will he be like when he has his own children? The thought drew me up. I didn’t know if he had any now. He could be married for all I knew.

  My gaze snaked to his hand. No telltale ring such as Andrew wore. For a moment, something long buried uncurled itself within my chest.

  Interest. Interest in the man who stood before me.

  I bit my lip. He wasn’t for me, and I wasn’t for him. Stop weaving fantasies!

  Settling myself back on the chaise, I stilled the sudden urge to move around in the vain hope that I could wash off these unfamiliar emotions that were all too difficult to accept.

  Control. It will help you cope, I told myself. Just like you’ve been trained your whole life.

  Clearly the sheriff heard me slide onto the seat, because he turned back and settled himself opposite me in one of the wing chairs.

  The burn of his gaze unnerved me.

  The urge to speak rose, and I let it take me. “Why were you sent to Haven?”

  For a moment, silence stretched between us. “I was born near there. My father died when I was young, in an accident while testing early automatons. He’d been collaborating with your brother on the building of security equipment. There was a failure at the plant, and my father was crushed. Mr Coultihan—your father—cared for my mother and me.”

  A knot of regret took up residence in my belly. “I’m sorry to hear that.” So little, and yet, what else was there to say? I knew loss. Had experienced it as a child.

  The sheriff shrugged. “My mother put up with a lot during the marriage. He wasn’t a great husband or role model. She said his death freed her to do things a married woman couldn’t. She’d been raised in a progressive household. After Father’s death, we went back there. Home.”

  His words hypnotized me. Freedom and progressive. Two words I knew but barely understood.

  “Progressive?” I prompted.

  “She wanted to study. Become a physiotraducere.”

  Now I blinked. It wasn’t a term I’d heard before. “A what?”

  He grinned, and my breath caught somewhere near my diaphragm.

  “A medical doctor who specialises in transplantation of cybernetic parts to replace the missing, amputated, or unhealthy parts. Eyes, limbs, and so on.”

  Like Junior.

  I shivered. “Where does she—” I swallowed deep, absorbing the frisson of fear. “—practice?”

  “She died. Two years ago. Someone broke in while she was operating on a child who’d fallen in front of a tram. It’s thought that they were someone who believed such practices should be reserved only for the exclusive upper echelons, because there were threats delivered to the clinic in the weeks prior to the attack. We believe the attacker was ‘enhanced’.” His voice took on a deep and coldly menacing tone. “We could tell because they left a calling card. They smashed through the table, and a tiny cog wheel was found caught in the debris.”

  I looked away, horrified by what he was telling me. “The child?”

  “Died too.”

  When I glanced back, there was a tiny sheen of pain in his eyes, telltale moisture, but I didn’t speak or move. Here stood a brave, proud man, and I wouldn’t injure him with my clumsy attempts at comfort. My gut lurched uncertainly at the bare descriptions he’d drawn for me.

  “It’s not right,” I whispered as I stood and moved to the window. Spread out below me was a patchwork of fields and trees. They seemed so small, almost insignificant, yet they lived, fought, and died for the land, those people below. They weren’t insignificant, and neither was I, nor the sheriff’s mother. “How do you cope with all this hate and horror?”

  His hand clasped my shoulder. I hadn’t heard the large man moving silently, yet he offered support without a word.

  “I work hard. I protect those who deserve it, and I always remember what it’s like to be lost and alone.”

  The last bit tore into me. A jagged knife that bit into my soul.

  Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, trying to calm the emotions that swirled and threatened to drown me. “I… A cup of tea.” I could hear the desperation in my voice, but I had to regain control.

 
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