Page 1 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
PROLOGUE
England, 1810
Christopher “Kit” Hollingsworth was trapped in hell. His hands were bound with iron manacles, and he was in the belly of a transportation ship bound for Australia. His head throbbed from having been struck several times in the last few days. He groaned and tried to sit up. How long had he been unconscious? The sound of waves crashing rhythmically against the wooden hull reminded him that the ship was already far out to sea. England was fading farther and farther away.
He examined the manacles and then peered at the other prisoners around him. Men and women were seated close together, hip to hip and packed like animals. A heavy stench pervaded the air, making Kit’s stomach roil.
A large, bulky man walked through the rows of prisoners. He wielded a thick wooden club the length of his forearm. Kit had taken that club to his stomach when he’d first been shoved belowdecks. Even the sight of that thick piece of wood caused a cold sweat to break out on Kit’s brow. The man slapped the club restlessly into his meaty palm as he peered at the prisoners.
“Oi, which one of you is Hollingsworth?” he demanded.
Grimy, weary faces of broken men and women showed no reaction to the man’s words. They weren’t the one he was looking for. Kit didn’t want to know what the man wanted from him, but hewouldn’thide. He was the son of the Earl of Kentwell, by God, and he would not hide or cower from his fate, no matter how grim.
“I am Hollingsworth,” he said, but the sound was raspy from lack of use and lack of water. His lips were chapped, and it hurt to swallow. He raised his manacled hands a little, catching the man’s attention.
“Stand up and come with me, the captain wants to see you” the man barked, and then he turned away.
Kit braced himself on the nearest wooden beam and stood. He shuffled behind the man with slow, painful steps. His entire body felt as though it were one raw wound. Thankfully, they’d left his feet unbound, and he was able to follow the man up the two decks to where the captain and his officers had their quarters.
They proceeded to a cabin at the stern of the vessel. Kit straightened his spine, readying himself for whatever came next. The man shot Kit a loathsome look before he curled his fingers into a fist and rapped his knuckles on the door.
“Enter,” a hard voice called from within the cabin.
The burly man opened the door and shoved Kit into the cabin before he turned and stood in the hallway to wait, closing the door.
Kit’s gaze darted around, taking in the bed, washstand, sea chest, and table laden with maps and ship’s logs. A man who Kit presumed to be the captain sat at the table, his back to Kit as he reviewed a stack of papers on the desk.
“Come around front so I may see you,” the captain ordered.
After a moment’s hesitation, Kit moved around the table to present himself to the captain. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in a tall, cheval glass mirror in the opposite corner of the room. His once fine clothes were damaged beyond repair. His white lawn shirt was torn, and the fine embroidery of his silk waistcoat was frayed and stained with blood, dirt, and other things. His hair hung in dark, limp tendrils on his head. Only his eyes, a dark fathomless brown, held any of the fire left within him.
“Christopher Hollingsworth, son of the Earl of Kentwell.” The captain lifted a piece of paper to better read the information. Kit said nothing and waited for the man to continue speaking.
“You are nineteen years of age. Your crime, it seems... was grand larceny of goods from theWind Sprite, a ship belonging to the East India Company. You were sentenced to death, but the sentence was commuted to seven years’ transportation. No doubt your influential father had a hand in that.” The captain didn’t seem to expect an answer, and Kit didn’t give him one.
Kit stared straight ahead, his gaze boring a hole into the wall behind the captain’s head. Two months ago, Kit had been at his gentlemen’s club, Berkley’s, playing whist with his friends when he was seized and charged with stealing goods from theWind Sprite. After spending four months in Newgate Prison, he’d faced a trial and sentencing. Mere days before his execution, he’d been informed that his father had used every bit of his power and money to buy Kit’s life. A life that for the next seven years was not to be his own.
“Thatisyou, isn’t it, boy?” the captain inquired as he set his paper down on his desk and folded his hands in front of him.
Kit slowly lowered his gaze. The captain was perhaps in his late forties, with a sallow, pinched face and a thin but muscular form. He wore a finely embroidered waistcoat and well-tailored trousers. Kit assumed this man was the captain of the ship.
“Yes, but I am innocent.” He had screamed those words so often in the last few months that he had lost his voice. Now when he spoke, he no longer expected anyone to believe him. The three men who had sealed his fate had planned their deception and betrayal so cleverly that most of England believed in his guilt.
“I’m sure you are,” the captain said with a cold, ironic chuckle. “But it is far too late to change that. You are on my ship. Mind my rules, keep your mouth shut, and you might survive the journey.”
Kit tried to wet his lips and cleared his throat. “May I ask where we are headed? I assume it is Australia?”
“We are bound for the colonial settlement at Sullivans Cove.”
Kit asked no other questions, even though he wanted to.
“Most of the convicts on this ship will be sent to work gangs or stations outside of the settlement. If you do well at this, you may be free to work for money in the last few years of your sentence. You may also be sent to work for a private individual who may pay you for your labor at their discretion. Once your sentence is at an end, if you have behaved, you will be declared a free man. You will be free to stay in Australia or return to England. At that point, you may go wherever you wish, so long as you have the means to travel.”
A dull ringing started in Kit’s ears.Seven years... The number was slowly beginning to penetrate the shock that had kept him frozen the last several months. But as the shock faded, anger took its place, coiling around his heart and planting itself like a thornbush within his bones. His anger was so deep it blistered his very soul.
“Do we understand each other?” the captain asked. “I know you come from a bloodline that must date back to the days of Charlemagne, but aboard my ship you are no different than any other criminal. Remember that.”
“I understand,” Kit replied, the two words heavy as they left his lips.
