Teresa Medeiros - Once An Angel

have to be very brave now, dear. Daddy said we must be very brave." Her laugh came out as a feeble hiccup. "All we have to do is wait."

She climbed into the window seat, clutching the doll to her breast. A lamplighter wound his solitary

path down the cobbled street below, nursing the gaslights to flickering life. Their misty haios pierced the twilight with a greenish tint. Annabel's reflection gazed back at her from the window, her rosy cheeks

and blond ringlets a startling contrast to her own tousled, dark curls and wan face. She tucked the doll beneath her chin. A shiver wracked her slender body.

"We'll wait like good girls, Annabel," she whispered. "Daddy can't come for us now, but Mr. Connor

will. Daddy promised he would come."

As she rocked back and forth in the gathering darkness, a tear splashed from her chin and trickled

slowly down Annabel's porcelain cheek.

New Zealand,

the North Star

1872

"If ever a brat needed a beatin', it's Emily Claire Scarborough!"

Barney's snarled refrain almost made Emily smile. She turned, bracing her back against the prow of

the small steamer. He glared at her, his pockmarked face twisted with hatred.

Flexing his wiry hands on the boat's rail, he muttered, "And I'm just the lad to give it to 'er."

Doreen grabbed her brother's ear, twisting it with one of the pinches that had made her the terror of

every classroom at Foxworth's Seminary for Young Ladies.

"Ow, sis!" he howled. "Turn loose. I 'aven't laid a fist on 'er. Not yet, anyway."

"It's more than a fist I'm thinkin' you'd like to be layin' on 'er. I saw yer eyes when we was stuffin'

'er into that fancy frock."

Emily did smile then, and Doreen twisted harder, her lapse into cockney enraging her further. They

all knew it was only her ability to mock the genteel speech of the upper classes that had earned her

a position at the school. That and Miss Winters's rapidly failing finances.

Barney knocked her hand away. "Between you two buggers, I'm like to be blind and deaf before we

ever see New Zealand. Women!" he spat out, reluctantly including his sister in that scathing epithet.

Rabid ferrets, Emily mused.

She had been dragged halfway across the world by two rabid ferrets. They walked upright and wore bonnets and caps, but even draping them in silk and diamonds wouldn't have cloaked their true… ferretness. She rubbed her arms. They were black and blue from Doreen's pinches. She supposed the woman would bite her if she didn't fear the captain would find it uncivilized. Or that Emily just might

bite her back.

She sighed. The tiny mail packet chugged through the water, churning an aqua swath through the

indigo sea.

Barney clawed at his collar. The wool suit Miss Winters had bought him before their departure would

be well suited for the brisk autumn winds now whipping through London, but not for the balmy breezes of New Zealand. The suit had obviously been tailored for a man two sizes smaller than he.

He mopped sweat from his brow. "This country ain't natural. It's like bein' in 'ell before me time." He narrowed his one good eye at Emily. "And if this is 'ell, that wench is the devil's own imp. Look at 'er. You'd think she owned the bloody steamer and the Tasman Sea with it."

His sister glanced not at Emily, but back at the bridge. The elderly captain was slumped over the wheel, half dozing.

"She might own it after we dump her in the lap of her rich guardian," Doreen said. "The highfalutin

duke's heir is to pay us all the money he owes poor Miss Winters for looking after the evil little bitch

all these years. And a tenth of it's ours to keep."

"Ought to be 'alf," Barney muttered, fingering the shiny bruise beneath his eye.

Emily was tempted to agree with him.

Monday she had smothered all of their rations with salt.

Tuesday she had poured out Barney's whiskey and replaced it with the contents of his sister's privy pot.

Wednesday she had tossed his only suit overboard. He had been forced to dive after it buck naked while Emily sliced her finger and cheerfully dripped blood into the sea in hopes of attracting sharks. It had taken both Doreen and the burly engine stoker to restrain him from throwing her overboard.

Only this morning she had blackened his eye with her flailing fist as he and Doreen had stripped off her simple pinafore and crammed her into a skirt and bustle.

"She ain't even got the decency to wear a bonnet," Barney growled.

While his face blistered and Doreen grew more sallow with each day of the journey, Emily had the sheer audacity to turn her face to the sun and brown like a little butternut.

"At least we finally got a proper frock on the boyish little fiend," Doreen snapped.

Barney's gaze roamed up and down Emily's figure, making her shudder. Emily knew he found her less than boyish, much as he loathed to admit it. Her breasts still ached from the horrid press of his bony

chest as he had held her down for Doreen to tie the bustle tapes. She edged as far down the rail from

him as the deck would allow. Leering at her, he adjusted his trousers. Emily hoped he was strangulating.

Doreen boxed his ears. "Keep yer bloody hands where I can see em. We can't muck this up now. We

got this job only because Miss Amelia couldn't afford to send another detective."

Barney's answering whine was interrupted by the captain's drowsy cry: "Land ho!"

Emily's pulse quickened.

The steamer slowed. A green flush appeared on the horizon. Doreen gripped the rail, her drawn features made almost pretty by anticipation. When they drew closer, Barney fumbled at the ropes on the small lifeboat that would carry him ashore. He was determined to find the elusive Mr. Connor himself before

he risked Emily running away again on dry land. She had run away once in Sydney and twice in Melbourne. But Barney was as dogged as a bloodhound. He'd simply thrown her over his shoulder and carted her back.

Doreen sucked in an excited breath through her pinched nostrils. "Shall I go with you? Do you think

you can find him alone?"

"If this bloke is as fine and uppity as Miss Winters said 'e was, I'll march straight up to 'is fancy 'ouse

and fetch 'im. Then we'll be rid of the brat and rich to boot."

Emily waited until Barney had hoisted the little boat into the bucking waves before leaning over the side and waving her handkerchief at him. "Do take care, Barney. One of Mr. Connor's partners is dead. The other disappeared without a trace." She smiled sweetly. "I should so hate for the same thing to happen

to you."

Barney's complexion paled to green. Shooting her a nasty look, he steered around and began rowing for shore.

A gull circled the dingy steamer, then soared into the sky. Emily's gaze followed its flight toward the silvery rim of the island.

"Never forget," she whispered to herself. "Justin Connor is a very dangerous man."

* * *

"The devil take that blasted Winters woman!"

As his soft-spoken master exploded in a burst of temper, Penfeld jumped, rattling the teacups on his

tray. The sea gull marching across the windowsill cocked his head in curious reproach.

Justin Connor threw down the crumpled letter and paced the hut, ruffling his dark hair into wild disarray. "Am I never to be left in peace?"

Penfeld set the tray on the stained tablecloth, fearing for his precious china with Justin's long limbs at

such odds with his gait. "It must have been the gum digger, sir. I told you the man was asking too many questions."

Justin turned with a sweeping gesture that made Penfeld thankful he had eased his sturdy bulk in front

of the tea service. "What makes you think the tenacious Miss Winters would require a mere mortal for her endeavors? She probably spotted me in her crystal ball." He flapped his arms. "I'm only surprised

she posted a letter instead of flying straight over on her broom to fetch me."

Penfeld's lips twitched, but he hid it behind a somber cough.

Justin stabbed an accusing finger at the gull. "Are you one of her familiars, too? No black cats for our indomitable Miss Winters."

The gull tucked his head shyly beneath his wing.

Justin growled. "Ought to wring your scrawny little neck. Put you in the pot for supper." He started for the bird, hands outstretched.

Penfeld cleared his throat meaningfully.

Justin swept up the letter that had been posted from London over five months before and had arrived

per a native runner only that afternoon. "The sheer arrogance of the woman! She insists I retrieve the

girl immediately. She's concocted some fabulous hints about her being involved in a scandal. What could the child have done? Spilled her milk at supper? Pilfered the sugar bowl?"

Penfeld patted his rotund belly fondly. "I was once caned myself for a similar crime."

"The grasping creature. I've sent every halfpenny I could scrape together for the girl's education."

Penfeld already knew that. He had been the one to post the slim envelopes devoid of a return address.

Justin sank down on an upended rum barrel. His shoulders slumped. "She must want more money.

But I've nothing left to sell. What am I to do?"

Penfeld directed all of his attention to polishing the immaculate spout of the teapot with his sleeve. "The Winters woman might not be the only one to learn of your whereabouts. Perhaps your family, sir…"

Justin lifted his head and looked at him with amber eyes that were dusted with flecks of ruthless gold.

He spoke with the level enunciation that had been known to freeze the staunchest Maori warrior in his tracks. "I have no family."

For a moment the only sound was the clink of one cup against another. Justin's gaze slowly melted from furious to imploring. "I'm a bachelor. Doesn't that woman understand? I can't be responsible for a child. It's quite impossible. She's far better off staying in England, where she can get a proper education."

Penfeld blew an imaginary speck of dust from the cream pitcher. "And when she's of an age to marry?"

Justin's laughter had a wild edge to it. "We've years to worry about that. She was only three when David died. She can't be more than ten or eleven now." Fueled by purpose, he donned his gold-rimmed spectacles and began to scribble furiously on the back of the paper. "I'm sending a letter back with the runner. The girl stays in the school her father chose for her. It's in her best interest. I'll send more money when I'm able."

"Have you ever thought the child might want a home? A family?"

Justin's pen hung poised over the paper. As he lifted his naked gaze, Penfeld wished he could bite back the words.

His master's sweeping gesture encompassed the dusty hut, the crude dirt floor, the books heaped in

every inch of available space. "Does this look like a home?" He touched his stubbled chin, his shirtless chest, the jagged hole worn in the knee of his calico dungarees. "Do I look like a family?"