“I must ask you now to take down your hair,” he said.
She might have expected it, remembering Charlotte’s comment about carrying messages in the coils of her tresses. Apparently it had been a favorite method of Sara Morgan. Lifting her arms, she removed the pins and let the shining, wild silk length slip, unfurling, down across her shoulders.
“Is that satisfactory?” she asked, her voice tight.
“Beautiful — I mean, that’s all right, then, I … if you will tell me that … that an internal search is unnecessary, I’ll swear it was done.”
If it was possible for the heated flush that spread over every inch of her body to become darker, it did. The only compensation was that his did the same. “I can assure you it isn’t necessary.”
He nodded and, swinging around, dived from the room. Outside the door, he scooped up her clothing in his arms and thrust it toward her. “I’ll leave you to dress while I report to the commander. And again, Miss Forrester, Ma’am, my most abject apologies.”
He left her as if it were he who had been released from surveillance instead of she. That there was no guard, and that he had not seen fit to post one, could have been taken as an indication either of her presumed frailty as a woman, or of his belief in her innocence. Lorna frowned over the omission as she righted her gown and petticoats, her hoop and corset, and got back into them. Now was the time to be rid of the packet, to throw hatbox and all out the porthole, she tried to tell herself, but could not bring herself to act. Instead, she put up her hair once more and slipped her cloak back on, preparing to mount to the deck.
At a tap on the door, she glanced up sharply, then moved to open the panel. Lieutenant Donavan stood outside. He gave her a quick look, as if to be certain she was dressed once more, then directed his gaze over the top of her head again.
“I have been detailed to guard you, Miss Forrester, and to institute a thorough search of your quarters.”
She should have known the Yankee commander would not be so lenient. She thought with irony of her earlier idea that her treatment left room for deception. There was nothing she could do now, however, except step back, allowing him to enter. She left the door swinging open and moved to take one of the chairs at the table, spreading her skirts around her. The officer stood irresolute, then stepped to Ramon’s trunk and lifted the lid.
There was a great noise of tramping feet and heavy thudding overhead. After a few minutes of watching the officer in blue lifting out Ramon’s clothing, carefully going through it item by item, she spoke.
“Is it permitted to ask what is happening?”
“They are shifting the cargo aft, lightening the stern, hoping the ship can be backed off without having to jettison too much.”
“She wasn’t damaged when she struck?”
“An opened seam or two, nothing major. She’ll float all right, if she can be freed, though we may have to wait until high tide.”
“Your commander has decided to use her as his flagship then?”
“Yes, Ma’am. He’s been waiting for a ship like her, something fast and sleek, like a race horse, that can chase down other runners. He’s gone now to arrange for the transfer from his present ship to this one.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“That’s when we do most things these days, during the dark of the moon, at least. Besides, there may be another runner or two before dawn to chase and board. Good God, what’s this?”‘
He had found the gold. “The captain’s … uh, ill-gotten gains, I suppose you would call it.”
Whistling, he hefted a sack of the heavy, clinking coins. “I knew running the blockade was a money-making venture, but this sure brings home just how much of one.”
To be sitting there talking easily to a man who was the enemy, a Yankee, one moreover who had inflicted the humiliation of searching her was beyond belief. Strange things happened in time of war, strange affinities, strange sympathies. She did not have time to think about it, however. “I’ve heard it said that quite a few federal officers would like the chance to run the blockade if things were different. Does the idea appeal to you?”
A boyish grin lit his features as he half-turned to face her. “They say it’s like nothing else, more exciting and a better test of nerve than hunting, pig-sticking, steeplechasing, or big-game shooting. If I had a ship of my own, one like this one, I wouldn’t mind trying it.”
The engines of the Lorelei began to strain in reverse. The paddle wheels thrashed. The ship shuddered through every bulkhead, and Lorna caught hold of the anchored table as the deck shifted, canting at an angle. The lid of the trunk fell, and the lieutenant only just got his arm out in time. He squatted, holding to the end of the bunk. Slowly, grindingly, the ship began to move.
“She’s going to make it,” Lorna said in amazement.
“She’s made it,” he answered, and it was true. The hard contact with earth was gone, and they were righting, floating free.
It made no real difference. The moment of brief exultation over, her captor continued his search, moving to her own small trunk, which he examined minutely, kicking aside hatboxes as he stripped the bunk and meticulously made it back up again, shifted through the charts and papers kept in a small chest under the table, rifled through the books on the bookshelves. Lorna, watching him with a growing sense of strain, managed to continue to talk, but each time he set a hatbox out of his way, she could feel the tension inside her tighten, squeezing at her stomach until she felt ill.
Turning from the bookcase, the lieutenant stared around him. His frowning attention lighted on the hatboxes at his feet. He picked one up, lifting the lid, peering inside. Clapping the lid under one arm, he began to pull at the tissue paper, letting it drift to the floor. He looked up as the door swung open, banging against the wall. Lorna swung, alarm coursing along her tense nerves.
Ramon stood in the doorway. In his hand was a navy colt revolver. He did not point it at the federal officer, but the threat was there. His eyes were black as obsidian as his glance swept the cabin, resting for an instant on Lorna’s pale face, noting the neat bunk, coming to rest on the man who stood before him.
“You have a choice,” he said, his voice soft, “you can surrender or you can play the hero. Under the circumstances, my friend, need I say which I would prefer?”
The lieutenant set the hatbox aside, straightening to his full height. His voice colorless, he said, “I take it there has been a change in the status of the ship.”
“Most assuredly.”
“The men?”
“There are a few broken heads among them, but they will hardly notice the pain, considering the way they have been downing the liquor stores carelessly left out where they could get to them.”
“You realize that you will be hunted down as a pirate after this?”
Ramon shrugged. “What odds? As long as I’m being shelled there might as well be a good reason. But enough. Will you travel to Wilmington with us or will you end it here?”
The words they threw at each other could mean only one thing. Ramon and his crew had retaken the Lorelei. Lorna rose to her feet, moving to his side. She reached to place her hand on his arm before turning toward the man in the center of the room.
“Lieutenant, can you swim?”
“Passably,” he answered, his voice stiff, but a sudden stillness on his features.
She looked back to Ramon. “Let him go.”
“What?” He scowled down at her.
“I am asking you to let this man go. He … he could have made these past hours terrible to endure, but he did not. I feel I owe him this much.”
He stared at her, weighing the request, giving it full attention even in the midst of the crisis he held so tenuously under control. She thought she saw an easing of the leashed rage that gripped him as his gaze moved over the white oval of her face. Abruptly, he nodded.
They mounted to the deck. The ship was moving, idling along, circling the length of the gutted ship
that had caused her to ground, seeking open water. Out on the sea could be seen the long boat with the shape of the fleet commander standing in the prow, returning to the ship he thought was going to carry his flag. Behind them, in the wheelhouse, Slick was at the helm with only the pilot beside him. There was no one else in sight. They moved farther aft, away from the slowly turning paddle wheel. The lieutenant pulled off his boots and uniform jacket, and stripped out of his shirt. Ignoring Ramon, he turned then to Lorna.
He took her hand. “My most fervent thanks,” he said, “and again, my apologies.”
“Accepted, for the second; for the first, there is no need.”
“There is, you know, and I won’t forget it.”
His hazel eyes steady, he held her gaze, then raised her hand to his lips. Releasing it, he stepped back.
“Take care,” she said.
He nodded, turned, and vaulted to the railing. He stood poised for an instant, then dived, hitting the water with a clean splash. In a few seconds, they saw him in the waves, his arms pulling strongly, heading toward the long boat.
“Satisfied?” Ramon asked, his voice hard.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Save your thanks; it was no gift.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It requires payment. I will include it in the price of passage.”
There was in his dark eyes the promise of a reckoning and something more, a doubt so foreign to him that it cast a dark shadow over his bronze features. Now was not the time to explore it, however.
Turning from her, he strode toward the wheelhouse. In a moment, his voice rang out in an order that was passed down the speaking tube to the engine room. The paddle wheels began to slap the water with their swift beat, kicking up foam and spume. For an endless stretch of time, the federals seemed not to notice; then came the whine of a shell. It fell short, sending up a geyser where they had been seconds before. It exploded as it hit the water, and the concussion made the ship buck as if it had been kicked in the backside. Lorna went to her knees, clinging to the railing, but not before she had seen the long boat bearing Captain Winslow dancing on the thrown up waves, nearly turning end on end. The fleet commander was gesticulating, berating a very wet lieutenant on the seat beside him, oblivious of the danger. Another gun roared, and the shell passed overhead; then, there were no more.
The federal gunboats had ceased firing for fear of endangering the life of their commanding officer. As the reason for their forbearance reached Lorna, she got to her feet once more, moving forward toward the prow of the ship. Holding to the rail, she turned her back on the Union fleet. Narrowing her eyes against the wind, she swung to look toward Wilmington.
14
Half-hidden behind the tender green of the foliage of oaks and maples and an occasional jack pine, the port town of Wilmington climbed the hill above the waterfront. A roof here, a wall there, could be glimpsed through the thick mantle, along with the Gothic spires of churches and the square shapes of chimneys. High on the rise could be seen a classic facade of Corinthian columns that was pointed out to Lorna as the town hall. Near the waterfront was the squat and dingy building of the customhouse, while beyond it loomed the tower set with columns that marked the town marketplace, which was said to house a full-scale theater. Compared to Nassau, it seemed a peaceful and quiet place, far removed from war. Still, there was a certain amount of bustle around the dock area where the blockade runners were being unloaded and their cargoes shuffled into warehouses.
The Lorelei had landed at Fort Fisher. There they found the Bonny Girl waiting. As Ramon and Lorna stepped onto the sand, Peter had been there to embrace them both. In his shock at finding Lorna had been on the ship, his guilt at being the cause of their discovery by the blockaders, and his relief at their escape, he was almost incoherent. The story was soon told, however, Ramon brushing past the reason for Lorna’s presence.
Regardless, Peter had not missed his possessive arm about her, or the challenge in his friend’s eyes. He had glanced once at Lorna, then looked away, his face pale.
In company with the fort commandant, Colonel Lamb, they had broken out champagne to celebrate. All officers and crews were included in the toasting, especially Cupid, who, on Ramon’s orders, had seen to it that the liquor stores were conveniently open to tempt the federal boarding party of marines, even including a keg of rum sitting unattended in the galley. Excluded were the marines themselves, who were marched from the hold and given into the custody of Colonel Lamb.
Afterward, Peter had gone on, while Ramon, with Slick and Chris, inspected the ship for damage, making those repairs necessary, leaving the rest until they had better access to materials in port. By mid-morning, they had passed the inspection against quarantine for yellow fever and other tropical diseases and been given their pratique, taken on a local pilot to guide them through the unbuoyed channel of the Cape Fear, and were steaming for Wilmington. Two miles below the town, they had reached the Dram Tree, an ancient cypress hung with moss standing in the river. As they passed, they had drunk a salute in recognition of a safe voyage, a tradition not to be flouted.
There were four blockade runners in already, too many to be unloaded at the limited docking area. The Lorelei dropped anchor and sat waiting her turn. Lorna stood on deck, watching the activity on the waterfront, the plying back and forth of the Market Street ferry, a flatboat operated by sweeps; the activity around a shipbuilding yard some distance away; the graceful passage now and then of a sloop belonging to one of the many plantation houses they had passed on their journey upriver. She lifted her face to the mild river breeze and warm noonday sun, listening to the calls of the birds in the trees that masked the town, aware of an intense joy in being alive after the dangers of the night.
After a time, she was joined by the other passengers. They carried on a desultory conversation as the gentlemen tried to decide if they should ask to be taken ashore or wait until the ship could run in and lower her gangplank. Among them was the Scotsman who, though he wore a bandage wrapped around his head and carried his arm in a sling of black silk, was as anxious as any to get into town to transact his business.
Also, lying at anchor was the Bonny Girl. Lorna waved to Peter once as, like Ramon, he attended to the details of the making ready to go ashore. He had lifted a hand in return, then swung away in a sudden show of efficiency.
The men were not the only ones with matters to attend to in town. The thought of the duty she had accepted rested heavily on Lorna. The sooner she had discharged it, the easier she would feel. It would be as well if she were ready to find the place and the person to whom she must pass on the dispatches as soon as they were free to go ashore. At the thought, she straightened from the rail. Murmuring her excuses, holding her shawl close around her in the breeze, she went below.
She closed the cabin door carefully behind her, then looked around her. Cupid had been in to set the place to rights, it appeared. The chairs were in their places by the table; the lamps had been taken from their gimbals, polished, and refilled, the remains of the combination breakfast and luncheon she had eaten alone while Ramon remained on deck had been removed. The hatboxes had also been collected and stacked against the wall, out of the way. She moved toward them, frowning as she tried to decide which one held the black bonnet in which she had hidden the dispatches.
The oilskin-wrapped packet was in the seventh box she picked up. The contents of the other six were strewn on the floor around her, the bonnets lying in drifts of tissue paper, by the time she found it. With the packet in one hand, she stuffed the black bonnet in which she had hidden it back into its box, and had begun to push paper around it when the door swung open. She made a convulsive movement, as if she would thrust the packet out of sight, then was still as she realized it was too late.
Ramon did not speak, but closed the door behind him and came toward her. His face was bleak, as he took the packet from her hand, untied the oilskin, and unfolded the papers it contained. His peru
sal was swift, cursory. When he spoke, the words were like a lash.
“What in God’s holy name do you mean by this piece of folly?”
She drew herself up, lifting her chin. “I meant to aid my country. What else?”
“Do you realize how close you came to paying the full price for it?”
“I should, I think, since I was the one who was subjected to search in this very cabin!”
“A trial that could have been avoided if you had had the sense to decline acting like a heroine in a melodrama.”
The sarcasm in his voice was a severe test of her temper; still, she clung to it. “I could not refuse to complete Sara Morgan’s mission for her. It is important, vitally important, that these dispatches reach President Davis.”
“Someone, anyone, else could have taken them. There was no need for you to run the risk.”
“There was every need! And why should I not? As a woman, I should have been immune from search, and would have been if there had not been some advance warning of my coming. How it became known, I can’t imagine, but—”
“The wallpaper sprouts ears in places like Nassau, and signals are easily flashed to the frigates patrolling the coast. A federal ship setting a course dead on Wilmington, without having to worry about being chased and shelled, could reach the blockade fleet at the mouth of the river ahead of us. No, the how is plain enough; it’s the why that sticks in my gullet. You thought it would be a lark, didn’t you? You thought it would be so easy to dupe me into taking you with me. And it was, wasn’t it? Mon Dieu, how easy I made it for you!”
“No, it … it wasn’t like that.”
He paid no attention to her words or the plea in her wide gray eyes. “What I don’t understand is why it was necessary for you to let me believe you came for my sake. You could have told me the truth and saved yourself a great deal of trouble. You might even have been able to sleep alone, instead of trading your favors like a whore for my goodwill.”
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2 Page 28