Returning to Le Havre was dangerous. Taking them with him was just as dangerous. But the simple fact was they would probably not stay in France, even if he tried and succeeded in getting them there. They would find some way of getting back aboard.
Four black days in the munitions room. He didn’t think he could abide that.
And all to be with him.
Bloody hell.
London
It was her final fitting.
Jenna dreaded it, dreaded standing for hours and suffering the occasional pinprick, all for a trousseau that might never be used.
Still, it was good to leave their lodgings. Maisie had refused every effort to leave them, even for meals. According to her, London was filled with ruffians and footpads. Her person was not safe. But the trousseau was part of her duties, and she had very reluctantly left the safety of the inn.
As the sailing date approached, she’d become more and more silent, muttering about pirates and leaving civilized society. It was obvious that the voyage ahead held little interest for her. She had been asked to serve as chaperone by Jenna’s father. One dependent on his goodwill did not question such “requests.”
Strangely enough, Jenna’s mother had taken a liking to the widow, or perhaps she had enjoyed lording her position over Maisie, and the woman had been brought into the house as a sort of companion/secretary to Jenna’s mother. She was considered neither servant nor relative, and she worked hard to make herself valuable and therefore secure.
Yet her complaints were unceasing, and Jenna dreaded the thought of spending nearly a month in close quarters with her.
She and Celia often left when Maisie retreated to her room and took one of her naps. They would walk to a market or through a park, always sure to return before Maisie awakened or there would be hours of recriminations and threats of letters about her lewd conduct to her father.
But, oh, how she wished to visit the restaurants or visit St. James Park, or go to the Covent Garden Theater.
Although she dreaded the actual fitting, it did feel good to be outside even with the fog this morning and a light rain.
As before, a man stepped up to help them out of the coach, then opened the door of the dressmaker’s. As Jenna entered the establishment, she heard a terrible scream followed by a thump. She spun around.
Maisie Campbell lay on the street—apparently from a stumble on the cobbles. A leg stuck out at an odd angle from the voluminous skirt and petticoats she wore. Maisie tried to move it and screamed again. The usher who had helped them out of the carriage took one look and frowned. “I’ll go for a physician,” he said, and started to run down the street.
Maisie wailed. Two men carried her inside the dressmaker’s establishment. Tears streamed down the older woman’s pinched face as Jenna hovered nearby, uncertain as to how to comfort her. Celia wrung her hands.
The physician arrived and diagnosed what everyone else had known.
“Mrs. Campbell has a broken leg. I’ll set it but she must be kept still in bed for several weeks.”
“We were to go on a voyage in three days,” Jenna said.
“To Barbados,” added the dressmaker helpfully.
“Not this lady,” the physician said. “Not if she wishes to walk again.”
Maisie Campbell grimaced, but still Jenna saw a note of relief in her chaperone’s eyes. Jenna knew her companion had never wanted to take the long voyage and had been terrified of pirates. She had been more afraid, though, to refuse the head of the Campbell clan.
“We will have to go home,” she stated, trying to restore her lost dignity and authority.
“No,” Jenna said. “Celia and I will go on. Mr. Murray is expecting me.”
Maisie looked at her in horror. “You cannot go alone. It would be scandalous.”
Scandal, Jenna knew, was the worst possible thing that could happen to someone in charge of her good name.
“The fare has already been paid,” Jenna reasoned aloud, desperate now not to return to her life in Scotland. “I doubt if we could get it back, and the next ship to Barbados is weeks away. I do not believe my father would regard the delay kindly. He has given his word to David Murray.”
Maisie frowned, obviously unconvinced. “Your father—”
“My father wants me out of Scotland,” Jenna said bluntly, not caring if anyone else heard. The hurt still pierced deeply. She knew she could not return home.
Maisie’s gaze fell. It was something she could not deny. “You will be disgraced,” she protested weakly.
“Is that any worse than what I am now?” Jenna asked. “Because I carry a birthmark, I am considered damaged, tainted, even evil. Perhaps society in Barbados is not so condemning.”
Maisie flushed. “Then I accept no responsibility,” she said.
“You have none. I am twenty-five,” Jenna said. “From now on, I will see to myself.”
Her mind was already wrapping itself around the fact that her father had paid for three passages and two cabins. Now she would need only one. If she could get a refund on the second, then she would have the money to leave Barbados if necessary. Perhaps to the American colonies, where she’d heard people were judged on their merit, not on their position or appearance.
Her heart lightened. The journey now held more than one ray of hope. If David Murray did not want her, she would be off on another adventure.
With the assistance of the dressmaker, she made arrangements for Mrs. Campbell to stay in a private residence where she would be cared for until she could return to Scotland. A letter was sent by coach to inform her father what had happened and her own plans to continue on. It would arrive well after her ship had left London.
That accomplished in her usual efficient manner, she stood for the final fitting. She didn’t even mind the long sleeves as her mind bubbled over with new enthusiasm. No Maisie Campbell. And she would have extra funds from an unneeded cabin that had already been engaged and paid for.
It was a good omen. She knew it.
Chapter Three
The Caribbean, One Month Later
Alex took his first English prize with only a shot across the bow. The ship had no guns, and Alex’s Ami had far more speed. It did not take long to convince the English captain to surrender.
He decided to send the rich prize of rum and sugar back to France. The prize should recompense Etienne for the bills they’d incurred in refitting the ship. It could also carry Meg and Robin back to France. Alex thought that would be the safest place for them. The English crew was put ashore a French island with little access to the shipping lanes. News of the ship’s capture would take months to reach England, making its voyage to France safe. At least safer than his own ship that bristled with guns.
His next prize would be sold in Martinique, the largest French island in the Caribbean. Etienne had assured him there was an active market there for captured vessels. He knew he would get more in France if he could sail the ship there, but he could spare no more of the crew. Although the monies would be less, the sale should provide him with enough gold to turn toward South America … and search for the diamonds.
The smuggling of diamonds, he and Etienne had agreed in Paris, would be a safer endeavor now that an English and French peace treaty seemed more likely each day.
Alex sent a skeleton crew under the second mate—a highly qualified and loyal man, according to Claude—to sail the English ship back to France.
But when the last quarter boat was ready to leave, the children had disappeared again. A search of the ship found nothing.
He guessed they were somewhere in the hold, but bloody hell if he could find them. He rather suspected that one or more of the crew was helping the two. They had become favorites in the past month, both of them working as hard as any of the sailors and doing jobs that the seamen preferred not to do, such as scrubbing decks, working in the galley, and cleaning the heads. They’d charmed every member of the crew.
Alex’s threats accomplished nothing.<
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Finally, he could tarry no longer. It was too dangerous for both the Ami and their prize. The ships could not be found together.
After their prize had sailed, Meg and Rob appeared silently, solemn expressions on their faces, both unrepentant and ready for the lecture they would receive.
Alex was at a loss again. How could he punish two scamps for using everything he’d taught them? He was in a conundrum of his own making. Next time, he secretly vowed, he would lock them in a cabin.
“You need us,” Meg said, sticking her lower lip out.
“You do,” Robin quietly insisted. “We peel potatoes better than anyone. Mickey says so.”
The thought of the aristocratic young lad happily peeling potatoes under their Irish cook only briefly amused Alex. He did not like being manipulated, even by Meg and Robin. He did not like the prospect of even more danger.
They had been lucky thus far, and that, he feared, gave them a false sense of security. They’d encountered no British warships, and their first capture had been bloodless. One shot and the ship had lowered its colors. He wondered whether Burke’s pipes had anything to do with it. He’d stood on deck, blowing away as if he’d been on a battlefield. The sound carried across the sea and probably sounded frighteningly eerie to the British crew. Sailors the world over were a superstitious lot.
But not every ship’s crew would be intimidated by his limited number of guns or Burke’s pipes.
“You can stay,” he said. “For now.” In truth, he had no choice. He could hardly dump them in the sea. He could take them to Martinique, but what then? He could not leave them there alone, and now he needed every man jack he had.
The two children grinned and then slipped away before he could change his mind.
Aboard the Charlotte
Jenna took a deep breath of tangy night air on the quarterdeck as the ship bucked in the heavy seas.
Celia was in their cabin, praying for the voyage to end. She had weathered the first days nicely, but rougher seas had brought on illness five days ago. She now looked dreadful, her face pale and her eyes dull. The mistress had become maid.
That did not bother Jenna. It was good to do something, to be useful. To be needed.
It also felt wonderful to be out of the stifling air of the cabin. Although it was the largest of six passenger cabins, it was still small and cramped, and she had given up her privacy to share the cabin with Celia. She was grateful, though. The captain at first had been reluctant to take them as passengers without a chaperone, but then had relented when a gentleman agreed to book Maisie’s unused cabin at a higher fare.
Captain Talbot had turned into a guardian of sorts, taking it upon himself to look out for her, and also for Celia when she’d been accosted by a member of the crew. He was greedy but he also seemed to be a gentleman. Meals were delivered to her cabin except for those rare occasions when she agreed to eat at his table with the other eight passengers. Celia, as a servant, was not invited. Despite years of being served, Jenna’s view had changed; Celia had become her friend and ally, and she didn’t want to leave her to eat alone in the cabin.
At least now she had enough money to pay for her and Celia’s fare if they had to leave Barbados.
She wore the customary long-sleeved gown and gloves, but as the large ship reached warmer waters, she longed to go without them, to feel the wind touch her arms, her hands. But concealment had become a way of life to her and she knew she would have to become used to the warm temperatures and bright sun after the cold, biting winds and mist and rain of the Highlands.
Despite the heaving of the ship, she enjoyed the voyage. She had the instincts and feel of a natural sailor, the captain had remarked.
The observation had pleased her. If she were a man, she might well pick sailing as a way of life. She didn’t even mind the storms. In truth, she had reveled in them, while poor Celia had lain gasping in her bed.
The captain joined her at the rail. “A brisk wind, and we’ll be docking in Barbados in two days.”
“I will miss the sea,” she said.
“Ah, you will probably be seeing it every day,” he said. “Barbados is not a large island. I don’t know where your Mr. Murray lives, but you will not be far from the sea.”
“Tell me about Barbados.”
“It’s a paradise, my lady. The water is a hundred shades of blue and green. You will like it there.”
She had not told him she had never seen her prospective husband. It was humiliating that the only way she could get a husband was to accept one who had never seen her, who was apparently as desperate for a wife as her parents had been to lose a daughter.
Be honest. You wanted it, too.
She bit her lip as she stared at the sky. It looked like a bolt of midnight blue velvet spread across a surface and decorated with a giant ball of gold and sprinkled with diamonds. She felt small, very small. Very unimportant. And yet it awed her, too.
“How is your Celia?”
“She will be very happy to put her feet on the ground.”
“You might warn her that the land will rock, too, for a while.”
She turned and looked at him.
“Aye, my lady. It will probably rock harder than this old lady has.”
She looked out at the darkness again, the sea illuminated by the moon. “Do you ever see any other ships out here?”
“No. Most of the pirates plying these seas have been caught.”
She shivered in the warm air. “I’ve heard of them. Are there none left?”
“A few who call themselves privateers,” he said with distaste. “But they are nothing more than pirates. British warships have cleared out most of them.”
She wondered what kind of man would turn to piracy. They were all said to be murderers as well as thieves, barbarous men who enjoyed killing their victims. She shivered although the air was warm.
“But you carry guns,” she said.
“Just four old ones,” he said. “We just never took them off when the waters became safer.”
The ship plunged into a wave and water sprayed over them.
“You’d best go inside, my lady. The wind is increasing and we might well have a storm tonight. It will be best if you stay in your cabin.”
She nodded. Celia might need her. She started to turn back toward the hatchway, then looked back. “Thank you for being so kind.”
“It was easy, my lady. I was not happy to have unattached and unaccompanied ladies with me and I almost turned you away. But you have been no trouble.”
“Thank you,” she said wryly. “I’m glad I was no trouble.”
She could feel his embarrassment. “I meant—”
“I know what you meant,” she said gently. “And I am grateful for your protection.”
“In truth,” he said, “I will miss you. So will the crew.”
The words pleased her. Although the other passengers ignored the crew, she had found them intriguing. She had soaked up their stories of ports and storms and adventures. One even claimed to have been captured by pirates. They had killed those who would not join them, he’d said. So he joined them, then escaped as soon as he could.
“I love the sea,” she said. “There’s a freedom here I did not find at home.”
“You’re a good sailor. Every other passenger has taken to their bed.”
She’d known that. In fact, she had been on the receiving end of glares because she did not share the misery of the others. Her fellow passengers included one husband and wife headed back to their plantation in Antigua, another one of the ship’s ports of call. Two were government officials being sent from England to Antigua. Another was a bookkeeper who had been hired by a shipping company on Barbados. He was the one who had purchased her cabin.
The men had all been attentive at first, even though they were quickly informed she was to meet her intended husband. As the seas became rougher, they had succumbed to mal de mer. During the last two days, she’d seen no one but the crew.
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The captain turned and went back to the wheel. Jenna lingered for another few moments, reluctant to return to the stifling cabin.
Just a few more days. Her sense of freedom was gradually evolving into apprehension, even dread as she considered meeting her prospective husband, anticipated the disappointment, even distaste, when he saw her birthmark. She shivered in the warm tropical air, then headed toward the companionway.
“Sail ho.”
Alex heard the call of the lookout and looked toward the east.
“Bonne chance,” said Claude, who stood next to him at the wheel.
Alex put the spyglass to his eye and stared in the direction pointed out by the sailor in the crow’s nest far above him. “Where away?” he shouted upward.
“Broad on the starboard bow,” the lookout cried down.
Alex found the sail, and blessed the seaman’s good eyes.
A merchantman flying the British flag.
He hesitated. He had been shorthanded since he’d sent a prize crew to return the one ship to France. They’d captured a second and sold it—with all its goods—in Martinique.
Alex believed the sale had produced enough gold to trade for diamonds. He had not lingered on the island. The governor of Martinique had been nervous. He too knew a peace treaty was near. He’d advised Alex and Claude to end their privateering.
Alex had intended to follow that advice until he saw the large merchant ship and its English flag.
“Should we take it, Captain?” Claude asked. “It would not hurt to have more coin.”
It would not. Alex had no idea how much he would have to pay for the diamonds in Brazil, how many bribes would be required.
The merchant ship looked fat and benign. It looked like prey, and Alex was still hungry for prey.
Thus far, they had been lucky. Neither merchant ship had fought back. He’d had no injuries among his crew or the enemies’ crews. But it wouldn’t be long before the news spread from island to island, then to England, that a privateer was attacking English vessels in the Caribbean. He did not believe it wise to hover in the area.
He planned to change the name of the ship, forge a new logbook, and sail for Brazil.
The Diamond King Page 4