without me. He knows how strongly I feel about this.”
Jane removed her cloak and hung it on the peg next to the door. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she joined Amelia next to the window. “I know you are upset, but I think you know the streets and docks of Liverpool are no place for you.”
Amelia swallowed. “Yes, but I—” She stopped. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She wanted Graham to be out searching for Lucy. She was not so much upset with Graham as she was with herself for not knowing what to do.
She looked over at Jane, who had stretched out on the bed. The sleepless night and long journey had taken a toll on her older friend.
She decided to keep her thoughts to herself and let Jane sleep. She sat on a chair next to the fire and contemplated Jane’s words about losing years to sorrow. There was no way to tell what the outcome of this situation would be. Perhaps Graham would find Lucy before Sunday morning. Perhaps he would not, and they would exchange the money they’d brought for her at the docks. Or perhaps something would go wrong and—
There was nothing she could do except one thing.
She looked back at Jane, who now slumbered. She crossed over to her trunk, opened it, and pulled out her small book of Psalms, the same book Graham had returned to her with the note tucked inside that changed the course of her life. At the last minute she had tossed it in on top of her clothes. Now, after her talk with Jane, she was so glad she had.
She opened the little book at random, and the words drew her in, comforting her and compelling her to read further.
O God, be not far from me: O my God, make haste for my help. Let them be confounded and consumed that are adversaries to my soul; let them be covered with reproach and dishonour that seek my hurt. But I will hope continually, and will yet praise thee more and more.
Graham sat at the table in the inn and leaned his elbows on the rough wooden table. His head hung low, but his eyes scanned the lively room, searching for anything that might be useful—a familiar face, a conspicuous character. He found nothing.
A roaring fire sputtered and hissed in a wide, open fireplace. Candles and wall sconces projected flickering light, but stale air dominated the tiny space. Strange faces, foreign voices, and the strong smell of ale surrounded him. Graham looked toward the door and spoke more to himself than Sulter. “I don’t think Kingston’s coming.”
Sulter straightened in the chair across from him. “Give him time. If Miller said he’d get Kingston here, he’ll be here.”
“You’re certain he’s trustworthy?”
“Aye. A year ago I might have spoken differently, but he’s well worth what you are willing to pay him.”
An entire evening scouring Liverpool’s streets and docks, and he was no closer to finding Lucy than when he arrived. How arrogant he’d been when making his promise to Amelia. The expression on her face had wrenched his soul, and he would have done whatever was necessary to restore the smile to her face. But unless something changed soon, he would have nothing to offer her tonight but failure.
He stifled a mighty yawn, the result of the long ride and sleepless nights. His nerves were raw, and every emotion teetered just underneath the surface. He wanted to sleep, if only for a few hours, but the visions that met him there might prove even more gruesome than reality.
He slumped in his chair. If only this nightmare would end.
The ale taunted him. The old vice knew its strength and mocked his weakness. He had ordered it for show and would drink in moderation. But his desire was to drink it and as many more that it took to dull the pain of his past and present. He tapped his fingers on the rough wooden table before taking the mug in his hand. His scar, purple and tight, flashed before him.
“So are you going to tell me what happened with that hand, or are you to leave me to wonder?”
Graham drew a sharp breath. He’d tried to hide the scar since he arrived in Darbury. But how long could he pretend it wasn’t there? He propped his elbow on the table and held his damaged hand in the air, forcing himself to look at the disfigurement. He flexed his