Page 82 of The Last Chance
Sigmund didn’t smile. A dark shadow passed over his rugged features. “The crowd were wicked that night. Nabobs wanting bloodsport. Men more brutal than any I’ve met on the streets. As it was the last fight, they jeered for Aaron to finish me off good and proper, like pompous Roman emperors giving a gladiator the thumbs down.”
Joanna gasped. “They wanted Mr Chance to kill you?”
“To wedge his foot on my neck and crush my windpipe. I remember looking at him as they criedkill. One eye was the size of a ripe plum. Blood dripped from a cut on his lip, yet I saw a sad boy, not a fearless warrior.”
Her heart raced like she was there. “What did he do?”
Sigmund smiled then. “He offered his hand and helped me to my feet. He marched over to the lord in charge and told him he would thrash anyone who tried to stop us leaving. Told him to shove his purse up his arse. Aaron Chance saved my life that day. It’s a debt I can never repay.”
Pride swelled in her chest. She considered saying fighting was a way to fill the coffers and that Aaron didn’t want to hurt anyone, but that wasn’t true.
“Why does he still fight if he doesn’t need the money?”
Sigmund bent to pick up a shell off the sand. “You could not stop Aaron fighting any more than you could change the tides. It gives him the strength he lacked as a boy. The more people who think he’s dangerous, the safer his family will be.”
“Yet we’re on a beach waiting to sail to Ostend. He’s battling to keep everyone safe when the walls are closing in on him.”
“I’ve every faith he’ll win this fight, too.” Sigmund reached for her hand and placed the shell in her palm. “You might wonder how something so fragile could survive the high seas. Like Aaron, it’s strong enough to take a battering. Tougher than normal folk can comprehend.”
“But Aaron has another side to his character.” A loving side.A vulnerable side. A side so beautiful she could barely describe it in words.
Sigmund nodded. “Happen I’ve seen a gentler man of late. What’s a shell if not proof things evolve?”
Joanna met his gaze. “It’s comforting to know he’s had you beside him all these years. You’re a good friend. Sigmund.”
“I’m his right hand when he needs one. I don’t take charity—never have—and insist on earning my keep. I’d follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked.”
“Or live with his colleague in Ostend,” she said.
“We both know you’re more than his colleague. He risked his neck to ride here this morning, though he knows I’d make sure everything went as planned.”
Her body melted at the memory of how they had spent that precious hour. How he looked at her like she was an angel. How he lost himself in her body, filling her, pleasure alight in eyes that were often troubled.
“How can we help him? There must be something we can do.” She had never felt so useless. “A way to lighten his burden.”
“We can help him by staying safe and doing what we’re told.” Sigmund gathered his greatcoat across his broad chest. “Best come inside now. The tide will be in soon. And he’ll have my guts for garters if you catch a chill.”
The thought of sitting for hours in The Ship’s taproom filled her with dread. The endless weeks, months or years in Ostend would be unbearable, too.
Desperate to do something, she told Sigmund about Mr Daventry’s idea to prompt her memory. “He said it’s remarkable what one might recall when in a trance-like state. You must revisit the scene and find what isn’t obvious.”
“It’s nonsense if you ask me,” he said, trudging across the sand towards the esplanade. “The sort of gibberish spouted by crones at the fair.”
“But what if I remember something important?” She raisedher skirts and lumbered behind him. “One minor detail might be the key to unlocking the puzzle. Please, Sigmund. It’s worth a try. You said you’d do anything for Aaron. I would rather exhaust every line of enquiry than desert him.”
Sigmund glanced over his shoulder and sighed. “You know how to pick your words. Now I see why the most notorious man in London is falling over himself to please you. What do you want me to do?”
She smiled to herself. “Just guide me while I search through the memory of that night. Ask questions and note my responses. It’s unlikely anything new will spring to mind, but I have to try.”
Sigmund grumbled to himself. “Let’s get it over with. We’ll use the taproom at The Ship Inn. Best we stay close in case McMillan changes the plans. We might have to rent rooms if there’s a storm brewing.”
“We can sit on that bench.” She pointed to the lonely wooden seat on the esplanade overlooking the beach. “I should be able to relax there.”
Before Sigmund could protest, she hurried ahead, mounted the stone steps and took a seat. The sea stretched to the horizon, endless miles she had to cross, each one taking her farther away from everything she loved.
“Well?” Sigmund said, sitting down beside her. “I suppose you should close your eyes and breathe deeply.”
“Yes, I suppose I should.” Joanna clasped her hands in her lap, the tiny shell cradled between her palms, a reminder she was resilient, too, and would do anything for the man she loved. “I shall imagine myself back in the drawing room of The Burnished Jade. It may take a minute or two.”
