by Kate Dolan
But that wasn’t happening. He had practically begged the man for an audience, and quivering deference seemed unlikely from him on his return.
He spun around with determination. The man was an innkeeper, by God, and Josiah was a man of property. He could show this man his place.
He took a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves and forced himself to view the situation as if he were representing a client before the bar.
What did he need to learn from this questioning? The men who were in from the ship last night, the name of the ship and its homeport, whether the innkeeper had seen any questionable characters, what time he closed and if he had noticed anything unusual as the men were leaving. Had he noticed the boy servant and Miss Carter? Why was the boy left behind? Josiah realized that, with the innkeeper’s gruff attitude, he would have to keep his questioning brusque and quick to get the answers he needed.
Having taken mental inventory, he now felt better prepared.
“What do you want?” The growl indicated the innkeeper had returned in even a less hospitable mood than before.
“Mr., uh…” Why hadn’t he checked the sign while the man was in back? “Sir, I have a few questions about the, uh, proceedings in your establishment last evening,” Josiah stammered.
His host said nothing.
“I, uh, understand, sir, that the crew of a ship was here drinking last night?”
“Yes, there’s a ship’s crew in here drinking more nights than not. If you ever paid us a visit you’d know that. Anythin’ else?”
“What ship was it, sir, and from what home—”
“I don’t know. Sailors talk a lot. I can’t keep ’em sorted out.”
“Oh, uh, I see.” This wasn’t going well—again. “Did you see a girl in here last night.”
“I don’t allow girls—or women—in the tavern, ’cepting my daughter Amy. The men’ll have to go elsewhere for that.”
Josiah reddened when he caught the man’s meaning. “No, I mean, a nice girl, refined, uh, clean…”
“Nice girls won’t be seen in taverns, Mr.…”
“Throckmorton, Josiah Throckmorton.”
“Oh, you’re the one what bought old Langley’s place so he could go running back home to the queen.” The innkeeper laughed.
“Old Langley? Oh, yes, Langley’s Choice. Yes, I purchased his plantation from England. And then, I, uh, moved here.” This questioning was not progressing as Josiah had hoped. How did they get onto the subject of his plantation?
He’d try again. “So, Mr., uh, sir, did you notice anything unusual last night?”
“No.”
“Nobody…acting strangely?”
“They all do act strangely with the rum, Mr. Throckmorton. It’s not my job to watch out for ’em.”
“Um, yes, I see.” Josiah noticed the innkeeper had been slowly inching toward the door.
“Well, if there’s nothing more I can you do for you, I need to take care of some business elsewheres.” The proprietor was almost at the door now.
“Yes, well, thank you and good day to you.” Josiah had to let him go, really; the man obviously had pressing business to attend to.
After a few moments, he took a deep breath and followed him out the door. Noticing the innkeeper was nowhere in sight, he sat down on the steps outside with some relief. Sweat ran in heavy streams down each side of his face, and the back of his shirt and waistcoat felt wet through. One long piece of hair poked into his left eye.
“I’m told he returned to the inn.”
Josiah heard Charles Carter’s voice before he saw him come up from the side of the building, accompanied by an unknown gentleman in a speckled waistcoat.
“Ah, Mr. Throckmorton. Did you see Mr.…” Charles glanced at the name on the sign. “…Stowe?”
“Yes, I did.” Josiah had seen him and in fact, had talked with him. But he was going to be embarrassed to admit how little he had learned from the exchange.
“And did he see Caroline last night?”
“He says women and girls are not permitted entrance to the tavern.”
“Well, we knew that, Mr. Throckmorton. That’s why she was dressed as a boy. Remember, Jimmy Dyer told us?”
Josiah hadn’t asked if the innkeeper had seen any boys. “Yes, of course” was all he said.
“Did he see any boys?” Charles continued.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, did he notice anything unusual at closing time?”
“Nothing that seemed unusual. To him.”
“Hm, and what time did he close? We’ll see if anyone in the vicinity noticed anything.”
“I don’t know.” Josiah had forgotten to ask. “I did not see a clock in the establishment.”
“Most people in Maryland do not own a clock, Mr. Throckmorton, but they judge time well enough.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ll ask him.” Charles Carter turned to enter the inn, but Josiah held up his hand.
“He has gone. He had other business.” He now felt very glum.
Charles miraculously appeared to brush off his annoyance. “Please forgive me, gentlemen, I’ve neglected to make introductions. Mr. Throckmorton, this is Captain Johnson, master of the Canary. He overheard my inquiries concerning Mr. Stowe and the ship that left before light this morning, and graciously offered his assistance. Captain Johnson, Mr. Throckmorton of Lang—Hanset Plantation. Mr. Throckmorton is engaged to be married to Miss Carter.”
“Please allow me to express my deepest…concern, Mr. Throckmorton. I will be pleased to be of service in any way possible.” The master made a quick but elaborate bow.
“Captain Johnson can give us some information about the ship which left so mysteriously.” Charles lowered his voice. “Two of his own men are missing as well.” He glanced at the doorway of the inn. “Perhaps we’d better step inside to continue our discussion?”
“The tavern is closed,” Josiah protested, but Charles had already led the ship’s master through the doorway. Josiah had no choice but to follow and found, to his consternation, that the innkeeper’s daughter was more than willing to serve them drinks and offered to bring food from the kitchen as well.
“Thank you, this will be all we need.” Charles smiled as the pox-scarred girl passed around three tankards of rather warm ale. She curtsied and retreated to the bar with light steps. “Now, Captain Johnson, what can you tell us about that ship?”
“Well.” Though his name was English, Captain Johnson drew out his words through his nose like a Frenchman. “I had to look at her closely, you see, because this is a small landing.”
“Yes, yes.” Charles gestured anxiously for him to get on with the story.
“A small sloop, of the type built in Bermuda. For privateers…” The captain paused dramatically. “…or pirates. Her rigging was most strange for this type of vessel. She carried rigging for sails she would not need, as if she were disguised. A fast ship, I believe, if rigged differently. And her name, well, she wore the name Helene painted on the stern, but on the larboard side I could see the name Osprey had been painted over.” The captain leaned in closer. “I believe she may be a pirate vessel. Perhaps the crew captured the Osprey and have tried to change her name.”
Pirates again. Josiah felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck. He took a slow breath. “Surely, pirates would not venture so far into the bay?” he suggested, discounting the precautions he had taken in fear of their presence just this morning.
The captain shrugged and drained his ale. “They have not so far, I believe. But with the war over now, anything…” He looked at his empty tankard. “Anything is possible.”
Charles motioned for the girl to bring another pint, and Josiah looked at the man’s empty tankard in amazement. He had taken no more than two or three sips from his own.
But before the barmaid could bring the captain’s second drink, a sudden influx of angry voices announced the presence of new arrivals, driving all thoughts of d
rink from anyone’s mind. The innkeeper led the procession into the room, although he actually backed in, arms raised to ward off the wrath of three women and an assortment of older children. All of them seemed to be trying to talk at once.
“You were the last one to see ’im,” one woman burst out. “You must know where ’e’s gone!”
“My John wouldn’t just leave!” another woman insisted fiercely.
So, others were, indeed, missing. Josiah glanced quickly at Charles then turned back to observe the women. Could they learn more about the disappearance without disclosing Miss Carter was gone?
“Ladies.” Charles gracefully stood and aligned himself near the party of confusion. “May I be of some assistance?”
One woman curtsied. “Thank you, Mr. Carter, sir. Our men are missing, and we think Mr. Stowe knows where they are.”
“They all came here last night to see the Greek treasure that was to be shown for a shilling’s worth of tobacco,” another woman chimed in. She turned and picked up a boy who was rather too large to be picked up and kissed him. “Something’s happened, and we must know. Somebody told us there were pirates here last night.”
“Mr. Stowe,” the third woman asked with steely calm, “did you have pirates in your public room?”
The innkeeper tried to diffuse the situation with a laugh. “And would I know a pirate if I did see one? I ain’t never been on the seas. And could you believe, pirates at the fall line. None would be so stupid.”
His audience did not look convinced.
“Captain Johnson has been telling us most interesting tales about the sloop at anchor when he arrived,” Charles said. “The sloop mysteriously left early this morning, probably not long after this tavern closed. Do you know of it?”
“Yes, a ship. Like any other. I can’t be particular over details.” The innkeeper looked at his fingernails closely.
“Did you advertise a show of Greek treasures in the public rooms?” Josiah asked, speaking up for the first time.
“Men brag about their belongings. People talk. I didn’t promise nothing.” Angry looks from around the room prompted the innkeeper to continue. “Some brought in their baubles, and lots came to see. They gave me a little extra for letting ’em use the room.”
The first woman stepped up to face the innkeeper directly. “Did pirates take our men, yes or no? We’ll have the law on you, Mr. Stowe, if you harbored pirates in your public house.”
“I saw no pirates!” the innkeeper insisted. “No pirates. And your men are probably out sleeping in the woods somewhere. There was a lot of drink about last night, and some of it was…stronger’n usual.” He flushed a little, appearing to regret that last admission.
Josiah was the only one who noticed. “Why was it stronger than usual, Mr. Stowe?” he asked quietly.
The innkeeper said nothing for a moment. “I don’t know. Some fool put too much rum in the punch.”
“But don’t you keep the rum bottles, Mr. Stowe? This is your inn, is it not?” Josiah continued.
“Well, ah, someone must have gotten one away from me, ah, see?” The innkeeper was starting to sweat noticeably. “I’d had a few sips myself. It was crowded, hard to see…”
“No one would have expected a strong punch at your inn, Mr. Stowe, from what I’ve heard. And no one could have made it strong but yourself.”
“It was the regular punch, but the heat…the heat was deadly fierce!” The innkeeper brightened as if struck with sudden inspiration. “Ah, the heat was dreadful. It bested me, by God, and I left it for the girl to clean up.” Stowe smiled.
“So, you say you were not here when the last man left.” Josiah spoke steadily, relieved that his experience in questioning witnesses was finally now in evidence. “How many were here when you left?”
“Oh, lots of men, room full.”
“Surely, some of them must have seen you leave. Who was here, then? Can you give me any names?”
“Well, ah, the heat and all, I was, ah, well…no.”
“I see. No one at all?”
“No one, Mr. Throckmorton.”
“Thank you.”
“Ladies,” Charles moved toward the door, “we bid you good day. May the Lord bring your men back home soon.”
Josiah followed Charles and Captain Johnson out the door and down the dusty street in silence. Before he had quite realized it, they had made their way down to the waterfront and were preparing to step down the gangway onto the Canary.
Chapter Five
Caroline shook herself awake with a jerk. Something extraordinarily large seemed to be suspended right in front of her face. The room was very dark, and a musty, sour smell filled the air. And her back hurt.
Everything, even the mysterious form above her face, seemed to sway with a slow, creaking rhythm.
Once she recovered from the shock, however, Caroline felt strangely relaxed. The smell of the room was not pleasant, but it seemed familiar, unthreatening. Even the strange snores seemed harmless. After all, her maid snored so fiercely the sound traveled from her garret room clear down to the back parlor, and even Johanna snored at times. Caroline started to drift back to sleep.
But the snores around her now were not those of her Irish maid nor of her sister.
Caroline’s comfortable, half-awake sensation faded rapidly. The snores of unknown men surrounded her now—and one of those men slept suspended from a hammock only a few inches from her face. She was alone on a ship full of strange men, about as far from decent society as she could possibly imagine.
She would have to escape.
From the way she had been ordered around yesterday, Caroline could see they expected her to work. They needed her to work.
That’s why they took us. The idea suddenly seemed to have been obvious all along. The captain needed slaves to work his ship. Nothing had been said about getting paid for “hunting pirates,” as he had so enthusiastically described their mission. And if the captain had wanted to hire seamen, he could have called at one of the bigger ports. He must be using them as slaves.
So, if the captain needed her and the others to move the sails around and wash the floors and make the cannons work, then he would probably not be too agreeable if she simply expressed a desire to leave at the next port.
Caroline twisted a piece of hair around her finger as she thought about a means of escape. She could sneak away when everyone was sleeping. She wasn’t sure how long she and the other “slaves” had been asleep before their crude introduction to the captain, but she thought it had been at least two and possibly three days. Yesterday made four. Even if they had a lot of water stored in casks, it wouldn’t keep for much more than a week without starting to smell a little funny. Bread wouldn’t keep much longer, either; so unless they had a bread oven on the ship, which she doubted very much, they would have to stop soon for bread and water. Then, when everyone was asleep, she would sneak upstairs and—
And what? How would she get off the ship?
Well, it wouldn’t be moving—that would make things easier. There might be a gangway to a dock, like ships often used at Elkridge Landing. Then again, there might not. When the Landing was busy, she and her sisters often saw small boats rowed out to bring men and supplies to ships that could not get up next to the dock.
Well, if she couldn’t walk off the ship, she’d just have to jump and swim. It wouldn’t be too far, and she did know how to swim a little. In the summers, she and her sisters often paddled and splashed in a small pool near one of the tobacco fields at Hill Crest. And it would be easier to swim in the boys’ clothes she had on now than in the heavy old dresses they wore in the pond at Hill Crest.
Caroline felt much better after having decided on a plan of escape. She just needed to wait until they stopped for water. Slowly, ever so slowly, she allowed the rhythmic symphony of snores and creaks to hypnotize her back into sleep.
Something grabbed her elbow.
“Dyer!”
Caroline turned toward
the voice in confusion. Then she remembered—she was supposed to be Jimmy Dyer. When asked her name, she had given Jimmy’s because it was the only masculine name she could think of.
“You’re on watch now.”
A boy not much bigger than she was gestured toward the hatch and moved away to grab the elbow of another sleeper. Caroline got up slowly, feeling as if in a trance. She was on watch! What did that mean? It was still dark outside—how could she watch anything? Surely, they didn’t expect her to wash things or fire cannons in the dark? And she hadn’t had any breakfast.
She was still staring uncertainly at the hatch when someone gave her a shove from behind.
“Move along, smartly, now. This is my watch, and I won’t have no slackers!” It was the big man from yesterday who spoke, and Caroline shivered. But he smiled and pointed up. “Come on, you’ve had four hours’ good sleep.” Her evident confusion must have amused him. “Four hours on watch, four hours off. Your turn, little mouse!”
She had watch every four hours? She didn’t find the period of sleep overly generous, as this Mr. Hardey apparently did. As she climbed the ladder to the deck, though, something occurred to her that was far more distressing than the thought of interrupted sleep.
Every four hours meant someone was on deck, “watching,” presumably, all the time, even at night. How was she going to sneak off the ship with a deck full of sailors watching her?
She pondered this question as Hardey assigned the men on his watch to their posts.
“Dyer, starboard bow.” At her blank look, Hardey pointed to the front of the ship, on the right-hand side. Starboard, larboard, she couldn’t keep them straight. And why didn’t they just call the front of the ship “the front of the ship” instead of giving it a fancy name like “bow?”
When she got to what she supposed was her proper place, Caroline turned around to see what the others were doing. A few had managed to station themselves close enough together to carry on a conversation in low voices. The man nearest her stood with his hands in his pockets, staring out at the waves in the dark water. Caroline turned and did likewise.