He saw the flash of her teeth as she grinned, then she went more quickly down the chain and beat him back to the tender.
She dropped into the boat without assistance. When he joined her, she turned to him with a radiant smile.
He looked into her face and couldn’t help but smile back. He’d forgotten this—the camaraderie, the way they pitted themselves against each other, challenging each other over just about anything in good-natured rivalry, yet always closing ranks and standing shoulder to shoulder against any outsider.
Another aspect of having her in his life that he’d missed.
He sat beside her on the middle bench and gave Williams the signal to steer the tender back to The Corsair. Facing forward, reaching in the darkness, he found her hand, and their fingers twined.
He held her hand as they glided across the night-dark waters.
CHAPTER 6
After they’d returned from visiting Decker, Royd had taken the helm, called up a few sails, and steered The Corsair as far toward the northern shore of the estuary as the reefs lining the coast allowed. Finally satisfied, he’d murmured, “Only someone high on Tower Hill with an excellent spyglass and reason to search will be likely to spot us here.”
He’d ordered the anchors dropped, and he and she had retired to the stern cabin for the rest of the night.
Now, with dawn lightening the sky, she stood beside him at the stern rail and, through a second spyglass Bellamy had found for her, watched the ships of the Royal Navy’s West Africa Squadron depart the harbor and take up station in a long line across the entrance to the estuary.
As the last two ships tacked into position, Royd humphed. “If nothing else, Decker is efficient.” He paused, then, his voice low, said, “Incidentally, while I appreciated your assistance with Decker last night, if I’m sharing all the information I have relevant to this venture, do you think you could return the favor?”
She lowered her spyglass and looked at him. After a moment, he lowered his glass and met her gaze. When she didn’t say anything, he arched a brow and waited.
She studied his face, then evenly said, “All right.”
When he widened his eyes, she smiled and looked out at the blockade taking shape on the waves. “Truth be told, I wasn’t sure he would recognize me. Once I realized he had, I decided to gauge his reaction to you and your approach before attempting to use the connection.”
Royd grunted. “It’s a basic tenet of command to know all the weapons at one’s disposal before taking the field. And obviously there are benefits to having a dragon-cum-harpy for a grandmother.”
Isobel laughed, then added, “If there’s anyone else in this mission against whom I have a lever we might use, I will let you know.”
Appeased, he inclined his head, then put the glass to his eye again.
But there was little more to be seen. The navy ships, mostly frigates, were well placed to effectively control ingress and egress from the estuary. No communication from Europe would reach the mine, or vice versa, through the blockade. If a messenger was truly desperate, they might try to come in or go out of the settlement via the coast to the west, south of the estuary, but Kit would soon move into position to block that route as well.
“Thus far”—he lowered the spyglass—“all is going to plan.”
Isobel lowered her spyglass, snapped it shut, and turned to lean against the stern rail. “So what have you planned for today?”
He glanced at her and grimaced. “We have to lie low. There are too many who would recognize me to risk going into the settlement, at least not in daylight.” He braced a hand on the rail, looking toward Freetown. “I can’t even send any of the crew—one sighting of any of us, and the news will flash around the waterfront that The Corsair is somewhere offshore. The only thing we can do today is skulk out here.” After a moment, he said, “I promised Duncan I’d teach him more knots.” Something he could do in his sleep, but at least it would see him spending more hours with his son.
He was enjoying introducing Duncan to all things sailing—to the small things about it that still thrilled him—far more than he’d foreseen.
“When will we sail on down the estuary?”
“As soon as either Declan or Robert arrives. We need them to lock down the settlement before joining us at the mine, and short of seeing them, there’s no way of knowing they haven’t been delayed by a storm or poor winds.”
“In the absence of any delay, when do you think one of them might get here?”
He looked out to sea, beyond the navy line. “I’m hoping at least The Cormorant will be here by midnight. If it is, we’ll hand over to Declan, up anchor, and sail on. I want to reach the mine as soon as may be.”
She made a sound of agreement. After a moment, she asked, “Isn’t there anything we can do meanwhile?”
He turned his head and looked at her.
She waved dismissively. “Anything to do with the mission.”
She was impatient by nature—and her impatience would only fuel his. He decided not to tease her further. “We can’t risk a daytime visit, but it’ll be helpful to learn whether there’ve been any relevant happenings in the settlement. When darkness falls, we can take the tender, go into the settlement, and call on Charles Babington. He’ll have been keeping his ear to the ground, and he moves in the right circles to have noticed any changes that we ought to know about. Also”—he tipped his head toward the squadron—“he’ll be curious about that, and we might need him to keep Macauley off Decker’s back, plus we need to warn him of Declan’s and Robert’s impending arrivals.”
She could dwell on the prospect of action until it was dark enough to risk walking the settlement’s streets.
It was easier to wait when one knew there would be some prize at the end. That was, after all, what he was doing with her—waiting while she learned to trust him again not because he was naturally patient but because the prize at the end would be worth it.
As if in promise of that, she gifted him with one of her open, sincerely delighted smiles. “An excellent idea. I’ll reread the relevant passages in Robert’s diary.” She opened her eyes wide. “So we leave at sunset?”
He grinned back. “We’ll be away the instant darkness falls.”
* * *
With her hand on Royd’s arm, Isobel strolled beside him along what he’d informed her was the settlement’s main street.
It was nearly ten o’clock, and the area was largely deserted. Even had there been people about, all they would have seen was a gentleman escorting a lady home; she was wearing a lightweight walking gown of dark-green twill with a small reticule dangling from her wrist.
They’d come ashore two hours before. Royd had directed the tender to pull in at the end of a wharf used for local trading. Even though the squadron was out of the harbor, he’d elected to give Government Wharf, and the moorings frequented not only by the navy but also by all major trading vessels, as wide a berth as possible. He and she had disembarked and, together with a small coterie of his men, had walked into the quieter, commercial side of the settlement.
Once in the narrow streets, their party had split up. Royd’s men had gone to lurk in taverns and see what they could learn. Meanwhile, driven by her curiosity, arm in arm, he and she had strolled the darkened streets into the fashionable district and all the way up to the fort on Tower Hill.
They hadn’t walked into the light cast by the flares outside the fort; they’d assessed the edifice from the shadows, then turned away. They’d found the address she had for the Sherbrooks—the family with whom Katherine had lived as governess. By local standards, it was a neat house, situated well within the boundaries of the supposedly safe European quarter.
Royd had asked whether she’d wished to knock on the door and meet Mrs. Sherbrook. She’d considered, then shaken her head. �
�It wasn’t her fault Katherine was kidnapped, and calling on her will risk advertising our presence for no real reason.”
She’d sensed his approval of her decision, although he’d said nothing, just accepted it with a nod.
Subsequently, they’d gone to the small park Aileen had described. It was a pleasant spot even by moonlight; they’d sat on a bench and looked out over the estuary.
She hadn’t previously journeyed anywhere more foreign than Amsterdam; while she’d been conscious of the warmth and humidity, she hadn’t found the atmosphere overly oppressive. A light breeze had wafted past, dissipating the lingering heat of the day and leaving the scents of night-flowering plants to overlay the smells of surrounding humanity.
The settlement ranked as the least-civilized place she’d visited. Edwina and Aileen had told her the areas deteriorated the farther one went from Tower Hill. She was glad she was only visiting. The thought of Katherine living there... Iona wouldn’t like it; Isobel didn’t, either.
They’d remained in the park until Royd had deemed it time to make for Babington’s apartment. As that lay close to the area Royd was keen to avoid, they exercised due caution in their approach, but they reached the stairs to Babington’s door without anyone giving them a second glance.
She led the way up the stairs. Royd joined her on the small landing and rapped on the door.
No lights glimmered in any window they could see, and no one came to open the door.
Royd knocked a second time, then reached into his pocket and drew out a set of lock picks. Isobel observed without a word. There’d been times when they’d competed to see who could pick a lock the fastest. She’d usually won.
The door popped open. He pushed it wide and ushered her in.
While he shut and relocked the door, she found a lamp and tinder; a second later, flame flared. She lit the wick, turned it very low, then set the glass on the lamp. The faint light played over the furnishings enough for them to see, but left the corners of the room in deep shadow.
She moved to the sofa, sank down, and looked at him. “Now what?”
Registering the impatience in her tone, he couldn’t help but smile. “Now we wait some more.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, then sighed and sat back.
He took the armchair to her left, the one facing the door.
Fifteen minutes later, they heard footsteps on the stairs, then a key rattled in the lock, and the door swung open.
Babington stepped into the room. He reached to set his hat on the sideboard—and saw Isobel.
He blinked, bemused...then his gaze shifted to Royd.
Babington recognized him instantly, and relief flooded his face. “Thank God!”
Royd arched his brows, then nodded at the still-open door.
Babington turned, saw the door swinging, and shut it.
“It’s nice to be appreciated,” Royd murmured.
“You don’t know the half of it.” Babington crossed to the chairs. His gaze started to drift to Isobel, but then he grasped the back of the armchair opposite Royd’s and locked his gaze on Royd’s face. “Is there a rescue under way?”
“Yes. But at present, it’s a covert operation. For reasons I’m sure will be obvious to you, we can’t afford to tip off any of the villains or their contacts in the settlement.”
Babington stepped around the armchair and sank into it. “As to that, we’ve had some interesting developments and unexpected visitors.”
Isobel shifted to better view Babington’s face—distracting Babington again.
Royd inwardly sighed, but clearly, he was going to have to get used to that. “My dear, allow me to introduce Charles Babington, of Macauley and Babington. Charles, this is Isobel Carmichael”—Frobisher—“a connection of Katherine Fortescue, a young lady taken from the settlement and currently a captive at the mine. Isobel is working with me.”
Babington knew him of old; he wouldn’t have missed that “my dear,” nor the oddity of him allowing any female to travel with him, much less acknowledging her as a partner.
Babington blinked several times, then Isobel extended her hand, and Babington’s well-honed manners kicked in; he smiled and shook her hand. “Enchanted, Miss Carmichael.”
“I would we were meeting under less fraught circumstances, sir. I understand your intended is also in that infernal camp.”
Babington’s expression grew bleak. “She’s been gone for months.”
More gently, Isobel said, “You’re likely unaware of it, but Caleb—Royd’s brother—reached the mining compound. He sent word that all the captives were in good health and has remained there with a group of his men to watch over them, albeit from outside the palisade.”
Babington glanced at Royd, the intensity of his hope almost painful to see, then he looked at Isobel. “Caleb mentioned Mary specifically?”
Isobel nodded. “He sent a list as well as reports from inside the compound—they confirmed that all the captives were well. The long and the short of it is that the mercenary in charge prefers to keep his workers healthy, and as he’s using the women as hostages of sorts to ensure the men’s compliance, the women have not been molested.”
Babington took several seconds to take that in. “Along the lines of you can’t threaten to damage something you’ve already damaged?”
“Exactly,” Isobel said.
Babington’s relief ran deep, easing the rigidity in his frame and the sharpness of his features. He met Isobel’s gaze. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You needed to know. However, when the time arrives to close down the mine, the mercenary captain will no longer need the men, and then he’ll no longer need the women, so we need to get everyone rescued before matters reach that point.”
Babington’s gaze flicked to Royd. “Did Caleb suggest closure was imminent?”
“Not as such, but all the evidence we’ve amassed—the reports from those at the mine plus all we’ve been able to deduce about those behind the scheme—strongly suggests that the instant production starts to wane, the backers, for want of a better term, will order the mine closed. We need to get to the mine and rescue the captives before any such order can reach the mercenaries running the mine.”
Babington locked his gaze with Royd’s. “Anything I can do, you have only to ask. And”—he drew a deep breath—“if possible, I’d like to go with you to the mine.”
“As to that, we’ll need your help in securing the settlement—Robert and Declan will soon be here, and they’ll be running that part of the operation. You can’t come with me—I’ll be making for the compound as soon as possible—but you’re welcome to join them. My men will reconnoiter and prepare, but if at all possible, we’ll wait until Robert and Declan’s forces join us before storming the compound.”
Babington nodded. “Count me in on that action. But what do you need me to do here?”
“You can start by explaining what you meant by developments and unexpected visitors.”
Babington paused to gather his thoughts, then recalled his duties as host and offered them drinks.
Once they were supplied with glasses of whisky—including Isobel, whose preference for the spirit had faintly shocked Babington—he resumed his seat. He sipped, then sat forward, clasping his glass between his hands. “The first development was the disappearance, entirely without warning or subsequent trace, of the naval attaché, Mr. Silas Muldoon. He was here one day and gone the next. Holbrook huffed, and I gather Decker was none too pleased when he sailed in and found his office at sixes and sevens, but apparently Holbrook decided that Muldoon’s disappearance was just another instance of men falling victim to the lure of the jungle.” Babington shook his head. “I can’t for the life of me understand how an otherwise reasonably sane man can be so blind.”
Royd sipped, then said, “It
might not be blindness so much as relying on the advice of someone who has a vested interest in Holbrook refusing to act over the disappearances. We’re fairly certain someone in Holbrook’s office is one of the villains—someone other than Lady Holbrook, who now appears to have been only tangentially involved, most likely by passing on information on potential kidnappees.”
Babington arched his brows. “As far as I know, there are only three men in Holbrook’s office who have his ear.”
“So Hillsythe—one of those kidnapped—said. He was attached to Holbrook’s office to investigate the disappearances, but was kidnapped before he even got a chance to assess the three.”
“Well,” Babington said, “no one from the governor’s office has done a bunk in recent times, but about ten days ago, the assistant commissar at the fort, one William Winton, also up and vanished. In his case, along with a very large amount of army stores—supplies which shouldn’t even have been brought into the settlement, let alone been lying around as surplus. The commissar, who, incidentally, is Winton’s uncle, is in a complete flap. They’re still trying to determine what and how much has gone, but as the assistant commissar managed all the orders...” Babington shrugged. “At this point, they have no idea how much they’ve lost.”
“These supplies.” Isobel tilted her head. “Could they be used in a mine?”
Babington nodded. “All the items I heard mentioned, yes—they’d be most useful in a mine.”
“So Muldoon’s vanished, and Winton’s followed—we have to assume both might be at the mine.” Royd considered the possibilities, then said, “Given we have someone on the governor’s staff still lurking, that’s not going to change our plans.”
“The next piece of news might.” Babington met Royd’s gaze. “Those unexpected visitors.” He tipped his head toward the door. “I’ve just come from a dinner party hastily convened by Macauley and his wife to entertain two unexpected arrivals—Lord Peter Ross-Courtney and a Mr. Frederick Neill. They arrived on a merchantman yesterday, direct from London.”
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