Usual disclaimers... blah!
Only three chapters at the moment. Mul accidentally edited Chapters 18 and 19 before realising she had not done 16 or 17... so she kindly looked at 16 for me before she had to dash out. We are hoping to have another big editing session tomorrow (Friday) so there should be another batch of chapters up within a day or so...
I've got the flu but I'm on a roll!
For those of you that could not place him, Frank Ossett was the carpenter on the Thames Rose, the ship that Catherine was taken to London by Stephen from Cape Town... the one that boarded up the window.
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"Are you sure?" Stephen Waike asked, eyes boring into Frank's startled face. He had known that his employer would be interested to hear of the woman, but he had not expected quite as much interest.
"Yes Mister Waike," he confirmed. "It was her! She was with a dark haired man, respectable looking..."
Stephen thought for a moment, figuring the man was likely to be his brother John. He was probably disguised, for his eccentric guise that he had seen him in previously would draw comment in the respectable streets of London. "Leave this to me," he said quietly, his voice dropping to a threat. "And tell no one!"
"Yes Sir," Frank nodded, suddenly wishing he was elsewhere. The gaze of his employer made him uncomfortable... very uncomfortable. "I'll be off then..." Stephen Waike nodded and Frank gratefully fled.
For a moment he thought to himself, quietly delighting in the knowledge. At last he could have revenge on his brother and the bitch he had married... revenge that he had long plotted. He rose from his chair, walking through to the conservatory where his father liked to sit amongst the luxurious foliage. "Father," he smiled. "I have some news... it appears that bitch is back!"
His father was a shrewd man, his sharpness not dimmed as yet by age. "I've told you not to call her that," he chided. "It is unseemly to hear such vulgarity on your lips."
"My apologies father," Stephen acknowledged, but his mind repeated the insult.
George Waike looked up at him. "Where is she?" he demanded.
"At the King's Rest... with a dark haired man which I suspect to be John," he said.
George nodded, instantly thinking of who owed him favours, and who he could buy if the need arose. He smiled, a predatory smile that momentarily unsettled his son. "Right, this is what I want you to do!"
###
Catherine screamed as the door burst inwards, a blade at her throat before she could even think of reaching for a weapon. "Don't even breathe pirate!" a voice ordered, gradually revealed to be a Sergeant as a candle was brought into the room. He grabbed her arm, looking closely at the tattoo. "This is her!" he confirmed, hauling her from the bed and pushing her towards one of his men.
"Please, I don't know what you..." Catherine began to protest as strong arms bound her hands behind her back.
The man approached closer until he was standing close enough for her to smell his breath. "Where is he?" he demanded. "You husband - that Caribbean scum!"
"Not here!" Catherine lashed out angrily at him, kicking with her feet, but he danced back with an agility at odds with his appearance.
"Uh uh!" he tutted, nodding to two of his men. A gag was roughly placed in her mouth and the second man produced a small hessian sack, covering her face. Frantically she continued to struggle until she felt a blow to her head and the world went even blacker.
###
Jack smiled, easing open the window of his old bedroom. He doubted his father had even realised that the latch was broken, a fact he had taken advantage of on many occasions as a young boy. The house was in darkness, but he crept through the corridors with an ease born of long association, reaching cautiously for the door to his mother's bedroom. Even when he had lived there, his parents had not slept together, and from what Catherine had told him of her time in the house, nothing had changed. Silently he padded across the room towards where she had kept her bible... but it was not there.
"Looking for this?" George Waike's voice drifted through the darkness. Jack whirled, seeing - too late - George sitting in the shadows behind the door. He held a slim piece of paper in his hand and with a lurch Jack realised that he knew.
"Give it to me!" he snarled, dropping any pretence of his disguise.
"Where is she?" George demanded. "Where is my wife?"
"Somewhere where you'll never find her," Jack sneered.
"And what of your own wife? Catherine, wasn't it?" He smiled, sending Jack's heart to his mouth. "Will you ever find her?"
George chortled on seeing the look of horror on Jack's face as he took a half-pace towards the door. "What have you done you bastard?" Jack demanded angrily, drawing his pistol.
"Now, now," George sighed. "We both know that you are the bastard, and not me... but then I've always known!"
"But then why..." Jack stuttered, looking to the letter.
"Because it served my purpose to overlook it... and now it has repaid me nicely." He grinned. "Guards!"
Jack looked in horror as the door to the bathroom opened, a number of red- coated soldiers emerging. He turned to George, snarling with rage. Sensing the opportunity fading, Jack fired, his shot taking his one-time father in the head. He snatched the letter, turning to face the soldiers who stood in shock at his actions. Seeing one of them reach for a pistol Jack acted, running for the window and crashing through, falling to ground below as the shot rang out.
He grunted, for a moment the wind knocked from him as he landed awkwardly. Jack reached for his shoulder, wincing as his hand came away wet - blood. "Kitty..." he muttered, picking himself up and stumbling across the cobbles towards the inn. He ran, a blind panic that did not pass until he was nearly at the inn. He stopped, drawing a ragged breath as he realised that they were probably waiting for him there and that if he fell into their trap then there was nothing he could do to help his wife. The streets were quiet... too quiet. He forced himself to walk, hoping nobody would pay attention to a walking man.
Grateful that his dark coat did not show the blood, Jack turned down a side street, pocketing a stone before climbing awkwardly onto the roof. He crept along cautiously, jumping narrow gaps until he found himself opposite their window. He frowned, noting that it had been shut. Catherine would have left it open, knowing he would return that way. Hefting the stone in his hand he threw it, smashing one of the panes of glass with his skilled shot. A face peered from the window - but it was not his wife. For a moment Jack could have curled up and cried, realising that he was too late to prevent what George taking his wife, horrified to admit that he had no idea where to look for her. If they were looking for him then he could not search easily...
He froze, recognising the voice of his half-brother in the street below. He knew he was hurt and that he would have to heal before he could retaliate - but he had loitered too long on the rooftops. Grunting with effort he crept away, only dropping to the streets when he was well clear of the inn. He would find a place to hide up, get the shot out, and then consider his options.
###
Only three chapters at the moment. Mul accidentally edited Chapters 18 and 19 before realising she had not done 16 or 17... so she kindly looked at 16 for me before she had to dash out. We are hoping to have another big editing session tomorrow (Friday) so there should be another batch of chapters up within a day or so...
I've got the flu but I'm on a roll!
For those of you that could not place him, Frank Ossett was the carpenter on the Thames Rose, the ship that Catherine was taken to London by Stephen from Cape Town... the one that boarded up the window.
###
"Are you sure?" Stephen Waike asked, eyes boring into Frank's startled face. He had known that his employer would be interested to hear of the woman, but he had not expected quite as much interest.
"Yes Mister Waike," he confirmed. "It was her! She was with a dark haired man, respectable looking..."
Stephen thought for a moment, figuring the man was likely to be his brother John. He was probably disguised, for his eccentric guise that he had seen him in previously would draw comment in the respectable streets of London. "Leave this to me," he said quietly, his voice dropping to a threat. "And tell no one!"
"Yes Sir," Frank nodded, suddenly wishing he was elsewhere. The gaze of his employer made him uncomfortable... very uncomfortable. "I'll be off then..." Stephen Waike nodded and Frank gratefully fled.
For a moment he thought to himself, quietly delighting in the knowledge. At last he could have revenge on his brother and the bitch he had married... revenge that he had long plotted. He rose from his chair, walking through to the conservatory where his father liked to sit amongst the luxurious foliage. "Father," he smiled. "I have some news... it appears that bitch is back!"
His father was a shrewd man, his sharpness not dimmed as yet by age. "I've told you not to call her that," he chided. "It is unseemly to hear such vulgarity on your lips."
"My apologies father," Stephen acknowledged, but his mind repeated the insult.
George Waike looked up at him. "Where is she?" he demanded.
"At the King's Rest... with a dark haired man which I suspect to be John," he said.
George nodded, instantly thinking of who owed him favours, and who he could buy if the need arose. He smiled, a predatory smile that momentarily unsettled his son. "Right, this is what I want you to do!"
###
Catherine screamed as the door burst inwards, a blade at her throat before she could even think of reaching for a weapon. "Don't even breathe pirate!" a voice ordered, gradually revealed to be a Sergeant as a candle was brought into the room. He grabbed her arm, looking closely at the tattoo. "This is her!" he confirmed, hauling her from the bed and pushing her towards one of his men.
"Please, I don't know what you..." Catherine began to protest as strong arms bound her hands behind her back.
The man approached closer until he was standing close enough for her to smell his breath. "Where is he?" he demanded. "You husband - that Caribbean scum!"
"Not here!" Catherine lashed out angrily at him, kicking with her feet, but he danced back with an agility at odds with his appearance.
"Uh uh!" he tutted, nodding to two of his men. A gag was roughly placed in her mouth and the second man produced a small hessian sack, covering her face. Frantically she continued to struggle until she felt a blow to her head and the world went even blacker.
###
Jack smiled, easing open the window of his old bedroom. He doubted his father had even realised that the latch was broken, a fact he had taken advantage of on many occasions as a young boy. The house was in darkness, but he crept through the corridors with an ease born of long association, reaching cautiously for the door to his mother's bedroom. Even when he had lived there, his parents had not slept together, and from what Catherine had told him of her time in the house, nothing had changed. Silently he padded across the room towards where she had kept her bible... but it was not there.
"Looking for this?" George Waike's voice drifted through the darkness. Jack whirled, seeing - too late - George sitting in the shadows behind the door. He held a slim piece of paper in his hand and with a lurch Jack realised that he knew.
"Give it to me!" he snarled, dropping any pretence of his disguise.
"Where is she?" George demanded. "Where is my wife?"
"Somewhere where you'll never find her," Jack sneered.
"And what of your own wife? Catherine, wasn't it?" He smiled, sending Jack's heart to his mouth. "Will you ever find her?"
George chortled on seeing the look of horror on Jack's face as he took a half-pace towards the door. "What have you done you bastard?" Jack demanded angrily, drawing his pistol.
"Now, now," George sighed. "We both know that you are the bastard, and not me... but then I've always known!"
"But then why..." Jack stuttered, looking to the letter.
"Because it served my purpose to overlook it... and now it has repaid me nicely." He grinned. "Guards!"
Jack looked in horror as the door to the bathroom opened, a number of red- coated soldiers emerging. He turned to George, snarling with rage. Sensing the opportunity fading, Jack fired, his shot taking his one-time father in the head. He snatched the letter, turning to face the soldiers who stood in shock at his actions. Seeing one of them reach for a pistol Jack acted, running for the window and crashing through, falling to ground below as the shot rang out.
He grunted, for a moment the wind knocked from him as he landed awkwardly. Jack reached for his shoulder, wincing as his hand came away wet - blood. "Kitty..." he muttered, picking himself up and stumbling across the cobbles towards the inn. He ran, a blind panic that did not pass until he was nearly at the inn. He stopped, drawing a ragged breath as he realised that they were probably waiting for him there and that if he fell into their trap then there was nothing he could do to help his wife. The streets were quiet... too quiet. He forced himself to walk, hoping nobody would pay attention to a walking man.
Grateful that his dark coat did not show the blood, Jack turned down a side street, pocketing a stone before climbing awkwardly onto the roof. He crept along cautiously, jumping narrow gaps until he found himself opposite their window. He frowned, noting that it had been shut. Catherine would have left it open, knowing he would return that way. Hefting the stone in his hand he threw it, smashing one of the panes of glass with his skilled shot. A face peered from the window - but it was not his wife. For a moment Jack could have curled up and cried, realising that he was too late to prevent what George taking his wife, horrified to admit that he had no idea where to look for her. If they were looking for him then he could not search easily...
He froze, recognising the voice of his half-brother in the street below. He knew he was hurt and that he would have to heal before he could retaliate - but he had loitered too long on the rooftops. Grunting with effort he crept away, only dropping to the streets when he was well clear of the inn. He would find a place to hide up, get the shot out, and then consider his options.
###