The Ruffian and the Rose

by Colleen French

  There had been no word from Brock since the night he had been taken away. She had not been notified as the soldiers had promised. The only way she knew where he had been taken was through Manessah's diligence and the aid of several silver coins.

  "Mort!" Keely rapped on the roof of the carriage. "Mort!"

  Mort swung down from beside the driver and stood on a sideboard, sticking his head in the carriage window. "Yes, ma'am?"

  "Mort, how much farther?"

  "The driver says a little ways, but we got to pass through guards. They don' jest let anyone down on them docks."

  Keely nodded, tugging at the low-cut bodice of her gown. Vigorously, she waved a silvered paper leaf fan. "Good, because I'm about to roast in here."

  Mort grinned, nodding his head. His appearance had improved greatly since he'd come to work for Keely. His clothes were clean, his hair was washed and pulled back neatly in a club, and he no longer reeked of sour sweat. It was Ruth he had to thank for the change in his personal upkeep. The cook had insisted he come to her table clean, or he'd not eat, so after two days of no meals, Mort had bowed his head to the old tyrant and done her bidding. Since that episode he had been diligent in his tidiness.

  "Just hang in there, Miss Keely. With Mistress Goldston's coach, her driver says we won't have no problem gettin' through. Seems she got her a friend down here. Some fat German called Von Bueren."

  Keely sighed, leaning back on the coach seat. "Precisely who I intend to see. Thank you, Mort, you've been good to me and it won't be forgotten."

  He flushed with pleasure and climbed back up on the carriage seat beside the driver.

  A few minutes later, the carriage came to a halt and a soldier in a red uniform, carrying a rifle, stepped forward. "No civilians past here," he told Mort and the driver. "I don't know where you think you're headed, but you'll have to turn around."

  Keely watched through the window as Mort tugged off his hat and reached into his shirt for a slip of paper the widow Goldston had given them. The soldier glanced at the sheet of paper. "I'll have to check with my officer," he said, then he disappeared into a small wooden building.

  A minute later the soldier returned with an officer at his side. Taking a deep breath, Keely forced her sweaty hands into a pair of lady's gloves. Then, she lifted the latch and alighted from the carriage in a great flurry of silk skirts.

  "Sir." She lifted her eyebrows, offering him her gloved hand.

  She'd dressed carefully this morning under the widow Goldston's direction. She wore an elaborate silk taffeta gown patterned in spirals of green and red vining with a silver gilt stomacher laced so tightly that she could barely breathe. When she had protested to the widow that the gown was far too elegant to wear to the docks, the young woman had winked, giving her a smile. "It's what will get you in to see who you need to see," she assured Keely. "Trust me."

  The officer, Wearing a British regular's uniform, accepted Keely's hand, bringing it to his lips. "Ma'am." His dark eyes wandered to the low-cut bodice of her gown and his cheeks colored. "How might I help you?"

  Keely smiled coyly, trying to remember everything the widow Goldston had told her about winning these men over. "I . . . I have an appointment, sir." She tugged her hand from his grasp and he straightened up with disappointment.

  "You do? And with whom might that be?"

  She lifted her fan, concealing her mouth with it. "I'd rather not say," she whispered.

  "Oh." Then the officer's eyes brightened. "Oh, oh, oh, yes, I understand. Any friend of Mistress Goldston's is certainly welcome."

  Keely lowered the fan. "Thank you, Major."

  "It's been a pleasure." He opened the carriage door and offered his hand in assistance. "If there's anything I can ever do for you again, ma'am . . ."

  "I shall surely call on you!" She took a seat and reached to close the door, but the officer held on to it, sticking his head inside the carriage.

  "Ah, how long do you think you'll be in New York?"

  "Well, that depends." She grasped the door handle and pulled the carriage door shut, giving the major just enough time to pull his head free. "That depends on how well I like it here." She rapped on the roof of the carriage with her fan. "Mort! Drive on!"

  The carriage rolled forward and Keely waved out the rear window. The moment they had passed through the wall of soldiers blocking the entrance to the dock, she slid back in the seat, heaving a sigh of relief.

  Mort jumped down onto the sideboard. "You all right, Miss Keely?"

  "I'll be all right when I find Mr. Bartholomew."

  "We're gonna find him if he's to be found, I swear it."

  Ten minutes later the carriage arrived at the designated warehouse and Keely adjusted her silk bonnet. Murmuring a prayer beneath her breath, she left the safety of the carriage and marched up the plank dock with Mort following in her footsteps.

  "Yeah, what you want?" A bearded man in a loyalist unit's uniform stepped in front of Keely, barring her passage into the warehouse where she was to meet with Von Bueren.

  "I'm Lucy MacDaniels and I've an appointment with Lieutenant Colonel Klaus Von Bueren." She fluttered her fan.

  "An appointment? Hah!" The loyalist hocked and spat at the ground, just missing her gown. "That what you ladies are callin' it these days? Stinkin' whores!"

  "Sir, let me pass or you will regret your mistake," she threatened, tight-lipped.

  The man shrugged, stepping aside. "Don't make no difference to me if you get the runnin' clap." He allowed Keely to pass but then dropped his rifle in the doorway, cutting off Mort. "But he ain't goin' nowhere."

  Mort slid his hand beneath his coat to rest it on the hilt of his knife, but Keely shook her head. "Stay here and wait for me."

  Her manservant nodded in obedience. "You need me and all ya have to do is hollar," he told her. "I can slit this crud's throat as easy as I can slit the next man's."

  "I don't think that will be necessary, Mort." She forced a smile then opened the door and disappeared from his sight.

  Following a long passageway, Keely encountered a German officer; however, this man was expecting her. "Right this vay," he told her politely.

  The middle-age soldier escorted her to a small sitting room somewhere in the warehouse and then disappeared, promising that the lieutenant colonel would be with her shortly.

  Nervous, Keely sat down on the edge of a velvet settee, toying with her gloves. She was amazed that such a room could exist in an old brick warehouse among barrels of salt pork and casks of wine. The room had been wallpapered, the floor covered with thick carpets, and a small rectangular stove added to one corner. There was a mahogany desk with stacks of papers piled on it, the settee, two chairs, and several hand-carved oriental tables. A silver tea service sat on the table in front of the settee. Steam rose from the teapot.

  When the door latch lifted, Keely jumped. A rotund man with a red face and hanging jowls came bouncing into the room. "Mistress MacDaniel, how good to meet you." He extended his hand and Keely rose to take it. "No, no, you must sit. It is too varm in these Colonies, don't you think?"

  Keely smiled. Here I go, she thought. This is my chance. If I'm to see Brock, this is the man who can get me there. "It's so good to meet you, sir. Val has told me so much about you."

  The lieutenant colonel lifted his coattails and seated himself in a chair across from Keely. "That Val, she is a good voman. Wunderbar!" He lifted the teapot. "Tea?"

  "Please."

  The German officer poured a cup of tea and handed it to her, then poured himself a cup. Lifting a napkin from a tray, he clapped his hand on his knee. "Bonbons! Vould you like one?"

  She glanced at the dark mounds of chocolate with pink icing tips. If she hadn't known better, she'd have thought the small sweets had been molded to resemble breasts. "No." She swallowed a gulp of boiling tea. "None for me, thank you."

  Von Bueren popped one of the delicacies into his mouth and reached for another. "So how might I help a voman as be
autiful as you, Miss Lucy?"

  The plan ticked through Keely's mind. She was Brock's mistress, come to say farewell before he was hanged. Mistress Goldston said it was the only way. She said they would never allow her to board the prison ship if they knew she was nothing but a wife. "Well, sir, as you know, my . . ." She cleared her throat. "A Captain Bartholomew has been taken prisoner by your men."

  "Yes, yes!" the German officer took a big gulp of tea, splashing some down the front of his light blue coat, staining the yellow facing.

  "Here, let me." Forcing herself up off the settee, Keely pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and blotted the man's coat. He likes to be fussed over, the Widow Goldston had advised.

  Von Bueren grinned, leaning back in the plush chair. "Yes, yes. I saw to that arrest myself. Ve have been on the man for quite some time."

  Keely returned to her seat. "So, Klaus." She smiled prettily. "Do you think I could see him, just this one last time?" She let her lower lip droop in a coy pout.

  He reached for another bonbon, smacking his lips in delight. "I think, yes, I think this could be done, maybe. Of course certain gentlemen will expect payment." He shrugged, noncommittal.

  "I understand. Just tell me what it will take." She picked up her drawstring purse from the settee.

  "Not now. After tea." Von Bueren waved a chubby hand and lifted the plate of bonbons. "Are you certain you vouldn't like a sweet? They are quite exquisite!"

  Seated at the bow, Keely held tightly to the sides of the rowboat, squinting to see into the darkness. Water lapped at the smallboat's sides as it skimmed the surface of the bay. The British prison ship Jersey's rotting hulk had been anchored in the harbor just off Brooklyn. There, she was told, Captain Brock Bartholomew was being held until his sentencing. His charge was treason to the Crown. His sentence, if found guilty, was to hang.

  "There she is, miss," called the sailor rowing the boat. "See her. Right ugly thing, ain't she?"

  Keely pulled her cotton wrap closer around her shoulders. Mort had not been permitted to come with her. He was waiting on the dock, while this sailor brought her to the prison ship. The sailor would wait but ten minutes once she was aboard and then he would leave, with or without her. If she wished to return to land, ten minutes was all she had.

  "Yes, I think I see it," she answered. Ahead she could make out the outline of a ship's hull, resting in the water at an odd angle.

  "Ya only got ten minutes, so make it quick-like. Ya'd not live a night on board. Them soldiers can get purty rough. They's the only ones they put on board for guards, ye know."

  Keely nodded. "Ten minutes and I promise I'll be back in this boat."

  The sailor guided the tiny rowboat up against the ship's hull and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Yo! On board!"

  "Yeah?" came a mocking voice from far above. "What ye need, laddy?"

  "Got a friend of Von Bueren's here. 'E says if ye split a hair on 'er, any of ya, 'e'll skin yer hides!"

  "Who's she wanna see? This is the third one this week. The man's making a profit, ain't he?"

  "I don't know nothin'," called the sailor. "I just do the rowin'."

  Keely stood up, leaning against the ship's slimy hull to keep from tumbling into the water. "Captain Bartholomew. I'm here to see Brock Bartholomew."

  A rope ladder fell from above and Keely started the treacherous climb.

  Once on board, a bare-chested sailor in short pants led her across the deck. "Got no parlor, ma'am." He chuckled. He toted a lantern and a long wooden staff. Tucked in the top of his breeches was a pistol and a long-bladed knife.

  The oil lantern the sailor carried cast an aura of golden light across the deck, sending squealing rats in every direction. Keely stifled a scream as a rodent came straight for her, bumping into her boot.

  The sailor chuckled, smacking the rat over the head with his staff. The animal screamed in pain and scurried off into the darkness. "Make nice bed partners, don't ye think?"

  Keely shivered, hugging her wrap to her sides.

  "Right down this way." The sailor led her below into the bowels of the ship, where the stench was nearly unbearable.

  She held her cotton wrap over her mouth and nose to keep from being ill. The odor of human excrement and sweat combined with that of rotting wood and food made her light-headed.

  "Ye can wait here." The sailor kicked open a door. "Want the lantern?"

  She put out her hand, trembling. "Please." Too frightened to move, Keely just stood there, clutching the lantern as her escort disappeared into the darkness. She could hear footsteps below and above her, mingling with the sound of the ocean lapping at the ship's dilapidated hull. Men groaned while others laughed. She could even detect the sound of someone crying pitifully.

  The sailor, Charlie Loden, pushed open an iron grate. "There a Capt'n Bartholomew in here?"

  "Yes. Here," Brock answered quietly.

  "Yer wanted."

  "Christ," Brock breathed. "Now? In the middle of the night?" he shouted from the pitch-black hold.

  "Get yer ass out here, unless you want me to come in!" Charlie ran his staff against the iron bars impatiently. "And hurry about it. I got a card game waitin' on me."

  Brock pushed up off the filthy floor, running a hand through his hair. He stepped over two men, tripping over a third. He shared the dark eight-foot by eight-foot cabin with fourteen other men. Stepping gingerly over the slop bucket, he crouched and crawled through the doorway. Behind him the sailor slammed the iron grate, sliding the bolt home.

  "You can't take me away like this," Brock told him. "I haven't been sentenced yet. I've had no trial."

  "Shut up and get on!" Charlie poked him with the staff. "Tonight ain't your hangin'. Someone here to see ya." Leading Brock down a pitch-black passageway, he kicked open a door.

  Brock turned.

  In a halo of golden light, Keely stood stock-still. Over her head she wore a cotton shawl like a veil falling to cover her magical hair. "Brock . . ." she whispered.

  "Keely?" Brock groaned, his eyes filling with tears. For a moment he wondered if she was real. Was this just another dream? "How the hell did you get here?" he managed huskily.

  She ran and flung herself into his arms, tears rolling down her cheeks. "It doesn't matter," she whispered. "Just hold me, Brock. Hold me . . ."

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Keely trembled in Brock's arms. "Thank God you're safe. I didn't know what to do. I don't know how to help you."

  Brock took the lantern from her hand and set it on the floor. "I can't believe you came. You shouldn't have endangered your life like this."

  She laughed as he brushed the tears from her cheeks with his dirty palm. "What is my life without you?"

  Brock crushed her to him, kissing the top of her sweet-smelling head. How could he tell her that there was little chance of escaping the sentence? How could he tell her just to go home and start her life anew? "Keely," he whispered.

  She lifted her chin to stare into his dark eyes. His face was covered in a ragged beard, his cheeks sinking in an unnatural hollow. He was missing his coat and waistcoat and his shirt was torn nearly to shreds. Even in the dim light of the lantern she could make out the outline of purple bruises across his cheeks and forehead and down his arms. "What, love, tell me. I'll do anything."

  "There's nothing to be done, ki-ti-hi. They have no evidence except for a man's word in Dover, but I don't think it matters. They want me badly. They think that if they kill me, other privateers will take heed. They don't understand our commitment; the Crown still sees us as a band of rebels."

  "What man?" she pleaded. "Didn't they say who?" She ran her fingers through his long black hair, trying to push it back into some kind of order.

  "No. But I think it's someone within the circle," he answered.

  She gasped. "A committee member?"

  He nodded gravely. "It seems to be the most logical deduction."

  "Micah is working on a prisoner exchange. Maybe he
can get you out of here. Wouldn't that work?"

  "It would." He kissed the tip of her nose. "But I don't know that they'll agree to it. I seem to be quite a catch."

  "I've got to go," Keely whispered in Brock's ear. "There's a man waiting in a rowboat for me."

  "How the hell did you get here in the first place?"

  "It's a long story. One I can save until you're set free." Her lips met his and they kissed feverishly.

  "Go then and see what you can find, love."

  She nodded bravely. "I brought you coin. Manessah said you would need it."

  "Manessah is right. You must pay for food here, have it brought in, or starve. There are two men with nothing, so I share what I can with them. My money's dwindled to nothing."

  "Here then." She pushed a tiny sack into his palm. "I have to hurry or I'll be left here."

  "Go then," Brock murmured, catching her around the waist. "Another kiss and then go."

  "I promise I'll be back," Keely murmured, accepting his lips. She clung to him desperately, terrified that this would be the last time she'd ever see him. The last time she'd ever feel his embrace. "I love you," she whispered.

  "I love you." Pulling away, Brock took her hand and retrieved the lantern. "Now go, sweet, while there's still time. Go."

  Taking one last look at the bronzed face of her husband, Keely picked up the lantern and ran from the room, leaving Brock in darkness.

  Three nights later, the sailor, Charlie, again came to Brock in his dark cell. "Capt'n Bartholomew!" he shouted.

  "Here," Brock answered. "It's about time someone came. The poor man's been dead more than a day. The stench is unbearable!" He got up from the corner of the dark cell and moved toward the lantern light. He had no idea if it was day or night. It was always dark below deck in the windowless cell and the soldiers had confiscated Lloyd's watch. He wasn't even certain how long ago Keely had come, but her image in his mind was what kept him alive, what made him believe there was hope for his release.