Pirate's Conquest

by Mary Martin

  His dark eyes glazed with greed thinking of the legendary riches that awaited him. It was something Carl had talked of, and plotted to find along with Malcolm. Carl's ship had reportedly sunk while cruising the lost sea. Malcolm knew he'd been searching for the treasure! And he'd departed without telling Malcolm of his plans.

  Through the years, Malcolm had questioned Benton Cambridge many times regarding that fateful expedi­tion. To no avail. Benton had told the attorney that he'd been sleeping on deck when the ship had hit a reef and recalled little of the accident, only his rescue. And what he could recall, he wished to forget. Was Carl's son seeking to cover up something? Did he have knowledge of something more than he let on? Malcolm was forced to accept the fact that the only surviving person of the expedition appeared to know nothng of the treasure. Even the liquor Malcolm kept supplying to him, had failed to loosen his tongue.

  Christ! All those years wasted on Carl Cambridge and his salvaging firm, working behind the scenes for Carl as his solicitor, waiting for that one big find, only to discover he'd been left with innumerable debts and holding the bag.

  Carl had left his son and his firm's attorney with very little. And for whatever reason, he appeared to have left only Starlin with knowledge of the fortune beneath the sea. And what made Malcolm even more livid was that it had taken him so long to uncover the fact that the girl was perhaps the only living person with knowledge of the journal.

  It was Benton who'd unknowingly directed Mal­colm's thinking. He'd been drunk one night, raving deliriously about Starlin and his father sharing so many hours together in the playhouse that love had built. Malcolm had known then why he'd searched everywhere and had never found the journal! At first he'd feared that Carl had taken it with him on the expedition and it was lost at sea. But then he'd reasoned that Carl would have wanted him to think just that. He was now of a mind to think that the girl knew where it was. But why hadn't she produced it as yet? Surely, she knew . . . she had to!

  Malcolm had come to England to seek out the truth, or the journal, if the latter could be easily obtained. Obviously, it could not. It was hidden well. He knew a more foolproof plan was needed, for his hired thug had gotten word to him that no journal had been found. And the oaf had almost been caught in the girl's room. Gad, that's all he would have needed. A string of ugly epithets streamed from Wells's lips as he turned a corner and entered a streetside pub. The attorney was so intent on his own concerns that he did not pay heed to those around him. A man had followed him inside the pub to merge with the crowd, picking an out-of-the-way table where he could silently observe Malcolm Wells.

  "Ova here, guv'nor!"

  Malcolm stared in the direction of the gravely voice and strode through the smoke-filled room to a secluded table where sat a bedraggled man.

  "'Av yourself a chair," he said, his ratlike eyes gleaming brightly.

  "I understand things didn't go as I'd hoped?" Malcolm queried with a sneer, sitting down and resting his elbows on the table.

  "Could'na be 'elped. The Cambridge girl came in while I was searchin' the room. I roughed 'er up a bit to keep 'er from screaming 'er 'ead off and then got outta there 'fore someone caught me." He paused to watch Malcolm closely. "I was in her room all right. And to prove it, I brung something back of'ers to show you."

  The man stank so bad from sweat and unwashed clothes that flies hovered about him. Malcolm was forced to withdraw his handkerchief and swish it about. The thief s meaty hand dove into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a dingy, grayish handkerchief. "'Ere . .. look at it yourself."

  Malcolm glared at him. "Keep your voice down. The last thing I need is for someone to hear" you."

  "I wrapped it up real good for you so's I wouldn't lose it," the thief whispered as he unfolded the ends of the cloth to reveal a gold band set with a tiny chipped diamond.

  "This proves nothing, you idiot," Malcolm scoffed, his gloved fingers playing an irritated tattoo upon the tabletop. "Couldn't you tell just by looking at this piece that it is not even worth a ha'penny." He gingerly plucked it from the handkerchief and held it before the thiefs narrowed eyes. "What tonnish young woman would wear such a cheap thing?' He plopped it disdainfully into the thief s hand. "Robbie, you have brought me back nothing more than some kitchen maid's wedding ring."

  The thief scowled. "I was there, I tell ya. I did everything that you told me. There weren't no journal to be found. And I think you knew that all along. You just wanted someone to make sure, that's all."

  "Oh, shut up," Malcolm hissed, considering the thief suspiciously. He reached in his pocket and tossed the thief a handful of coins. "This should keep you in rum for a few days. And consider our business concluded. I no longer have need of our association."

  An evil leer appeared in Robbie's gleaming eyes. "Not so fast with you." He grasped Malcolm by the arm. "You promised me more than this. And ifn I don't get it I just may 'ave to split your 'ead." He doubled up his fist threateningly.

  With a muttered curse, Malcolm brought his cane down sharply on the man's wrist. "Release me at once, you fool!"

  The thief howled in pain and jumped to his feet clutching his injured limb. He stood glaring male­volently at the stern-faced attorney. "You shouldn't 'ave gone and done that. Robbie don't like being hit."

  "If you'd take time to use that brain of yours before reacting, you might make out better in life, my lad."

  Robbie thought he would have liked nothing better than to have flashed the jewels he'd stolen from the room before the attorney's eyes. That would show the blowhard who the real fool was. Robbie Brent knew how to take care of himself just fine, he mused triumphantly, thinking of the riches in his pocket and the gold that he'd have when he sold them off. He didn't need this American to tell him how to get along. He knew how, very well.

  After a few more heated words, Malcolm Wells departed, knowing that if he wished positive results, he would have to seek them himself. He'd been thinking about that since his discussion with the earl. If it were ever discovered that the will he'd drawn up for the earl to claim guardianship of Starlin was a false one, Malcolm knew he'd find himself in serious trouble. He realized now what a mistake it had been. But at the time he'd considered it a stroke of luck to have an opportunity to get rid of the girl and leave Benton the only Cambridge to deal with. It was time to act. And within a week.

  From his sources, he knew that the earl enjoyed a leisurely ride every morning on his hunter, Krager. With all of the groomsmen about, it shouldn't prove too difficult to slip in as one of them and alter a cinch strap a bit. He smiled coldly. A bad tumble could put an end to one obstacle, leaving the other easy prey. He turned up the collar on his cloak and hailed a passing hansom.

  "The West End Highway, half flash," he called out to the burly driver before bounding into the vehicle.

  He glanced behind him as the vehicle sprinted forward, breathing a relieved sigh when he saw only a black dog who appeared the only living thing intent on his departure.

  He really felt no guilt for his ugly plotting, and even now, an icy sardonic smile graced his thin lips as he reclined comfortably against the cushions and antici­pated certain victory.

  First the earl, then later, Benton. Callous?—not really, he mused. He'd worked long and hard through the years, and had received nothing but a paltry salary for his efforts. He had been all ready to step in as administrator following the boating accident that had reportedly claimed all the Cambridges' lives, save Starlin's. And then, several months later, to his astonishment, Benton had returned to Key West.

  "Benton Cambridge may not know of the journal, but Starlin does," Malcolm murmured to himself. "She's the only one left. Waiting somewhere in the Triangle is a treasure that Carl had decided, should none of them return, would one day be the girl's legacy."

  The wolfhound came to heel at a sharp whistle, his tail wagging happily at the pat on his head.

  "Big brother was absolutely right, wasn't he, fella," Ely Morgan murmured benea
th his breath as he stepped from the tavern to observe a hansom cab disappear around the street corner. "The attorney is involved in more than legal affairs for the Cambridges. His sort would not venture to this area just for a bit of ale." He turned back toward the tavern that Wells had spent the last hour in. Just before reaching the entrance, he quickly glanced around, then with several loud hiccups and stumbling feet, he resumed his charade of drunken reveller before he burst back through the tavern door.

  The huge beast cocked his head to one side, puzzled, it seemed, to see the sudden change in his master. He sat down just outside the entrance to await Ely's return.

  "Listen up, all you seadogs!" Ely shouted in a voice slurred by drink. "I've been a long time at sea, and now that I've wet my whistle proper, I'm ready to do me a bit of celebrating." He reached inside his cloak and withdrew a small leather pouch. He shook it. At the sound of gold pieces jingling, the proprietor favored hjm with a hearty grin.

  "Seen you over there all by yourself earlier a-talkin' to no one," the barkeep said. "Guess you was just windin' up, right, lad? Come, pick yourself a wench and have another mug. Both will do wonders for ya, me boy."

  There were loud guffaws as Ely accepted the proprietor's invitation by grabbing a smiling doxy and tossing her, squealing in delight, over one broad shoulder. Grinning widely, he swatted her upon her ample behind before perching her on the edge of the bar. "All drinks are on me, lads!" he shouted boisterously, and made room for the rush to the bar.

  For the next hour, Ely Morgan drank his ale and sang bawdy tunes with a goodly number of seamen who were in a state of alcoholic bliss and therefore did not notice he was not drinking as much as they were. Ely stumbled about from table to table, laughing and raising a ruckus as all men do who have just returned after long months at sea. But out of the corner of his eye, he watched the shifty eyes of the beggarly wretch sitting at a table off in the corner of the room. A comely strumpet strolled past Ely and giggled shrilly when he grasped her abouf her waist and staggered over to the lone man's table.

  "No use in you sitting here by yourself, friend. Mind if we join you?'

  The man's gaze narrowed, and he sized Ely up one last time before kicking out a chair next to his.

  "Take a load off your feet, mate."

  Ely sat down after sending the girl to fetch mugs of ale.

  The afternoon wore on, and by early evening the occupants of the tavern were well into their cups, save one who played his part well. Ely leaned back in his chair, regarding those around him. Many were in a drunken stupor, their heads resting upon tabletops, loud snores penetrating the murky corners of the taproom. Ely made a show out of checking the dwindled contents of the leather pouch. He grinned crookedly at the besotted man sitting across the table.

  "Still got me a coin or two left. Mayhap I'll buy me something real nice to take home to my darlin'."

  His companion's eyes glittered. "Could be, mate, that I 'ave something for ya that might be better'n anything you could find in any shop around 'ere."

  Ely's eyes had fallen closed, but one now opened slowly to peer at the man. "What might that be, friend?"

  The man leaned closer to Ely and whispered in a raspy voice, "Somethin' real special for your special lady when you returns to your 'ome port. She'll give you a proper welcome after you give 'er these, she will."

  Ely swayed a bit in his chair. "Sounds like you know the way to a woman's heart is with baubles. Aye, and I wish I could afford me some to make her pretty little face light up when she saw them." He watched from behind narrowed eyes as the man dug into his grimy coat pocket and produced a ragged handkerchief.

  '"Ave yourself a look at these." He held the handkerchief close to him. "Them's the real thing, too."

  Ely stared down at the sparkling jewels in the tawdry setting. "Blimey! Those are truly something." He fingered them carefully before favoring the man with a suspicious glare. "But how do I know that these are real, mate? You could be trying to sell me nothing but colored glass."

  "No. They're real sure enough. They come by way of a fancy lady. A real lady, I might add." He grinned meaningfully.

  A look of dawning awareness appeared on Ely's face. "I see. In such a way as to present problems for you if you don't dispose of them right quick, is that it, friend?"

  "It could at that," he man replied. "And more so if they get traced back to a certain prominent gentleman that I know. I done a job for 'im." He favored the young man with a conspiratorial wink. "You know what kind I'm talking about? They're good stuff—I swear."

  "You make it mighty tempting."

  "I'll give them to you dirt cheap, but you must keep them 'idden until you ship out again, matey." His face bore a hopeful expression. "Deal?"

  Ely looked a bit doubtful. "It just might be that I don't have enough to buy them even for that." He jiggled the pouch once more before tossing it down on the table. Being a man to drive a pretty mean bargain himself, he was determined not to part with any more coin than he had to.

  The man licked his lips greedily. He glanced at the pouch lying so temptingly near his fingers. "I figure you got enough for me, sport. I'm not 'ard to do business with. A man like me don't need much to see to 'is comforts."

  Ely slid the meager bag of coins toward the thief. The man reached out and grasped it like a dog after a bone. He was smiling when he handed Ely the jewels. "A good buy you got for yourself. The little lady's gonna be right 'appy with you after you give 'er those."

  "Yes," Ely replied as he rose to his feet. "I think so, too."

  Ely left the tavern and went directly toward the waterfront district. His stride was even and smooth and his whistle was merry. He was sober as a judge on hanging day. Merlin loped alongside his master, pausing only once, nostrils flaring, to sniff at an organ grinder's monkey who screeched in fright when the big dog came too near.

  "Come, Merlin," Ely called back to the dog. "We have much to do yet and little time left."

  Man and beast continued onward, and when Ely saw the topmasts of many ships ahead in the distance, he knew they were almost at their destination. He grew extremely cautious. This particular section of London was its worst, a haven for thieves, muggers, and derelicts of every sort. His hand slipped inside his gray cloak, his palm resting upon the hilt of a sheathed knife. Ely did not intend to become a victim of this night. He ducked into a shadowy alleyway and paused before the side door of an inn. He glanced at the faded letters of the sign. It read The Green Parrot Inn. Not the sort of place he was accustomed to. For this venture, however, he had to agree it would serve the purpose well.

  "You Morgan?" the night clerk inquired just as soon as he entered the building.

  "Aye," Ely responded.

  "The man you want is upstairs in fourteen." He regarded him over the top of his newspaper.

  Ely nodded at the coarsely dressed innkeeper who appeared to have been told to watch for his arrival. "Make certain no one is following me," he told the man. "And if there is someone, stop them." He reached in his pocket and withdrew a coin to toss at the clerk • before bounding up the stairs two at a time and turning down a dimly lit hall. He viewed the water-stained walls, the threadbare carpet, and shrugged. It wasn't Rayne's usual style, but then, it suited the purpose well enough. Upon reaching the correct room, he rapped lightly on the door with his knuckles.

  "It's open" came the deep reply.

  Ely swung the door inward and stepped over the threshold. He was met with the sight of a gleaming broadsword leveled at his stomach.

  "Jesus Christ! It's me, Rayne!" Ely yelped, instigat­ing some fancy footwork to evade the deadly weapon.

  Lazy laughter filled the room and Rayne Morgan dropped the sword to his side. "It never hurts to be cautious, Brother."

  Merlin bounded snarling into the room. Ely viewed him with a dry snort.

  "A lot of good you do me bringing up the rear, you overgrown lap dog. I could be skewered by now."

  Rayne grinned. "Little chance of
that. I was almost certain that it was you by the sound of your footsteps." He motioned for the younger man to sit down. "I take it all went well?'

  "Aye, better than we imagined." He sprawled easily into an overstuffed armchair, draping one leg over the padded arm.

  Rayne walked over to a side table and picked up a bottle of port. He poured two tumblers and returned to

  hand one to his brother. "Well, don't keep me waiting. Were we correct in our assumptions?"

  Ely sipped at his drink. "I was summoned by our man to Eaton Hall after Wells was seen arriving at the mansion earlier today, and was admitted. Presumably, to speak with the earl. He did not stay more than a few minutes and was back out again and left in a cab. I had just gotten there myself and remained inconspicuous in order to observe him. By his expression, it didn't appear to have been a social call. I left Eaton Hall right behind Wells. He took a cab to a tavern on Grover where he met up with the sort of bloke that one would hire to do dirty work for them. After Wells left, I managed to spend some time with the hoodlum, and also bought these from him." He withdrew the jewels from within his cloak and handed them to Rayne. "Nice, aren't they?'

  "Yes, and expensive. Where did he get them?"

  "There was a break-in at Eaton Hall last night. They're Starlin's."

  Rayne's long fingers brushed across the gleaming gems. There was a sapphire brooch and matching earrings, and a diamond necklace with a single drop diamond in the center. The lot was worth a fortune. He regarded Ely with a dubious expression. "Wells was not interested in the jewels?"

  "Let's suffice to say that I believe Wells sent the man there for only one thing," Ely said.

  "He did not find it—just as we'd suspected all along."

  "You still believe the girl knows more than she's letting on, don't you?"

  "She's wearing the ring."

  Ely pondered seriously Rayne's statement. "And whoever wears it is supposed to hold the key—"