Miss Haynes held the fan to her nose.
He hoped it was scented, because the office reeked of snuff, sweat, and odors he couldn’t quite identify.
“Good day.” Fromp tugged his coat straight over his portly midsection and with a groan rose to his feet. “Anything I can do for you?”
She straightened her back. “Passage to New Orleans.”
Fromp blinked in surprise that she had answered.
Tom should have told her to let him speak.
Doubtless sensing money to be gained, Fromp rubbed his hands together. “Now let me see. New Orleans. Packet or steamship?”
“Give me the price for each.”
Fromp took a longer look at her. No doubt he’d taken in the quality of her clothing and the distinctly English accent. Not to mention the elegant parasol.
Tom cleared his throat to remind Fromp that he was here on the lady’s behalf. “And the schedule. Last I heard no one’s sailing.”
“True, true,” Fromp muttered, “but they’ll be heading out soon. Got a steamer due in any day now from New York.”
“They’ll be slowed,” Tom interjected.
Fromp glared at him before refocusing on Miss Haynes. “As I said, the Lady Jane is due in soon.” He rustled some papers until he found what he wanted. “Ah yes, as I thought. Headed for Mobile and then New Orleans.”
“Are there any ships going directly to New Orleans?” she asked.
Tom eyed her. She was in a hurry indeed. Why, if she was only joining family? No, there must be more involved. Tom hoped the same cousin who had sold their lands in England had not sent her to marry.
Fromp shuffled through more papers. “Uh, not that I know of, but there’s always the odd ship that comes in without notice.” He frowned. “Most are heading the other direction, though. Stopping here after New Orleans. You might have to wait.”
That clearly did not please her. “I will ask another agent.”
“You won’t get a different answer,” Fromp said.
“Then how much is passage on the Lady Jane?”
Fromp named a figure that made her blanch.
“For third class?” Tom gave Fromp a look that said he’d better not pad the fee.
“That’d be half the price, but a lady like you wouldn’t want to travel with that riffraff, not without a strong escort.” Fromp glared back at Tom.
Miss Haynes wavered. Apparently she’d planned to travel unescorted, a thought that made Tom nervous. Too much could happen to a beautiful woman traveling alone without protection.
“All ships can’t cost that much,” she whispered.
Fromp shrugged. “Can’t say. Each company sets its own rates.”
Something like desperation set her expression. “I will keep asking then.”
Without waiting for him, she pulled open the door and darted from the office. Tom followed and closed the door behind them, an idea forming in his head. If she could wait and he could explain the problem to Rourke, maybe he would have just the solution. But it would cost. Perhaps a great deal.
The other shipping agents gave the same answers as the first. Perhaps in this small port they banded together to set fees and regulate transport, such as it was, for Catherine could not find any passage beyond the Lady Jane. That vessel planned a two-week stay in Mobile to off-load cargo. Catherine might as well wait here for the Justinian to be repaired.
Frustrated, she hurried back toward that vessel, Tom Worthington on her heels. She had hoped he would help her, but he hadn’t convinced a single agent to lower his fees or bring a vessel here sooner. It was unfair to think he could change either, but her dwindling funds put her in a precarious position. She couldn’t afford a long delay.
“Where are you going?” His easy tone matched his loping gait.
She, on the other hand, could barely speak between gulps of air. “To the ship.”
“But you can’t stay aboard.”
She halted. “Why not? I have paid for passage all the way to Jamaica. Apparently that is the only way I will reach my destination.”
“They still won’t let you stay aboard during repairs. That’s why I asked if you were staying at the Admiralty Inn. See?” He nodded toward the wharf.
Captain and Mrs. Durning stood there beside a pile of trunks. Three of them were Catherine’s, along with the crated portrait of Maman. Mrs. Durning waved at her. The captain acknowledged Catherine and then headed for the stevedores.
The woman clapped her plump hands when Catherine arrived. “I wondered where you went. We have been put off, dear. Quite shocking, but there it is. Nothing to be done but to buck up and make the best of matters. Mr. Durning will stay with the ship, naturally, but no passengers are allowed on board.”
“Why?” Catherine asked, when what she really needed to know was where they would stay. Tom Worthington had mentioned an inn, but that would cost precious money.
“Mr. Durning says it’s too dangerous, and we wouldn’t sleep a wink with all the pounding going on.”
Catherine briefly wondered if the captain simply wanted to avoid his wife’s oversight during the repairs, but she shook the thought away. Even now workmen crawled over the Justinian.
“Then repairs will be completed quickly.” And she would reach New Orleans after only a small delay.
Mrs. Durning fanned her plump face, which was dotted with perspiration. “I do hope so. This infernal clime is more than a lady can bear.”
“Perhaps you would be more comfortable at the Admiralty Inn.” Mr. Worthington bowed before them. “I would be glad to hire a porter and escort you there.”
“Walk?” Mrs. Durning’s fan paused.
He smiled. “It’s a very short walk, but I can arrange for a hack if you wish.”
Something about Mr. Worthington softened the older lady. Catherine had noticed it that morning.
With the sun now dropping quickly toward the horizon, they had best find lodgings as soon as possible. Given the numbers that had crowded the wharf earlier, there might not be many rooms left at what was likely the best inn on the island.
Catherine’s fears proved well-founded. After delays to arrange for a porter and waiting for a hack, they found the inn full.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the innkeeper managed to state without looking the least bit sorry. “All we got left is the admiral’s quarters at two dollars for the night.”
“Two dollars!” Catherine and Mrs. Durning exclaimed at the same time.
“Will you accept British sterling?” Catherine added.
“Silver? Aye,” the innkeeper grunted. “But I gotta warn ye that the room’s got just one bed.”
“Poor quarters for an admiral,” Catherine remarked.
“Take it or not.” The man shrugged. “Makes no difference to me.”
Catherine managed a weak smile as she turned toward Mrs. Durning. “Would you be willing to share the bed?” She hated to imagine what manner of rodent might crawl about such a place after the lamps were extinguished.
“Of course, dear, but that is not the problem.”
Tom Worthington sidled near the innkeeper and said something to him in too soft a voice for Catherine to hear. She guessed he was trying to get a lower price, but the innkeeper staunchly shook his head.
Even half that rate would deplete her savings in no time, and she would have to pay for the privilege of listening to Mrs. Durning’s snores.
A pleasing aroma drifted from the vicinity of the dining room, and Catherine’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten much more than stale biscuit and a few spoonfuls of clear broth all day. This smelled like a fish stew she’d once enjoyed on the coast.
“What will we do?” Mrs. Durning blinked back tears. “Mr. Durning only gave me a few shillings. By the time I return for more, the room will be gone.”
Catherine swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. “I will pay the cost for tonight. In the morning we will seek a better situation.”
Mr. Worthington returned. �
�I suggest private lodging.”
Mrs. Durning gasped. “In a stranger’s home?” She looked out the open door to the neighboring houses. “There couldn’t possibly be room for two additional ladies in any of these.”
Catherine had difficulty imagining it too. The houses were not large, certainly not the size of Deerford with its two sitting rooms, two parlors, study, library, dining room, and six bedchambers. These were more like tenant cottages. Even the ones with a second story could have at most three bedchambers, and those would likely be filled with children.
“I know just the place,” Mr. Worthington said. “Mrs. Elizabeth O’Malley is known for her gracious hospitality. You would be most welcome.”
Catherine eyed the darkening doorway. She could not impose on a stranger so late in the day. “Perhaps tomorrow. For tonight we will take this room.” She turned to the innkeeper, determined to succeed where Mr. Worthington had failed. “However, since we must share a single bed, I expect a lower rate.”
The innkeeper blinked, apparently unused to a woman speaking her mind.
“I assume the rate includes meals,” she added.
He paused for a few moments before recognition dawned on his face. “You’re asking if meals is included. Didn’t understand, what with that accent and all.”
Indeed. He was the one with the atrocious accent. Instead of pointing that out, she smiled.
He didn’t. “Meals is extra.”
Catherine gritted her teeth and forced that smile a bit longer. “We would be greatly beholden to you, sir, if you might include supper and breakfast.” They could survive without the midday meal if necessary.
His gaze narrowed. “Now then, seems to me that you’re the one needin’ a room and I’m the only inn that’s got one. Law of supply and demand.”
Meaning he could charge a pirate’s ransom. “Our Lord gave us another law. To love your neighbor as yourself. Surely you can find it in your heart to help two women unexpectedly stranded on this fair isle. I eat no more than a bird.”
“A pelican?” the innkeeper snorted, his gaze darting to Mrs. Durning.
“A wren.”
Mr. Worthington outright laughed. “Come now, Sullivan, both you and I know you’re overcharging. Give it to the ladies for a dollar—with meals.”
“One dollar without meals,” Sullivan countered.
“I accept.” It wasn’t ideal, but she would make do. She had some food left in her trunk, and Mrs. Durning could get meals from the cook on the Justinian.
Mr. Worthington chuckled after she’d registered and paid the fee. “You have a way with people.”
Catherine wasn’t certain if that was a compliment or not, considering she’d failed to persuade a single shipping agent to budge on his rates and couldn’t winkle a single meal from the innkeeper.
He drew them away from the registration desk. “I still think you should consider meeting Elizabeth O’Malley tomorrow. I would be glad to make introductions, and she would welcome company with her husband gone. You will find her two children well-mannered for their age.”
“How young?” Mrs. Durning asked.
“Around five and three years of age.”
The matron brightened. “Perfectly delightful ages. I would appreciate the society. Perhaps we should call on her.”
Mr. Worthington directed the porter to carry their trunks to their room. “You will adore her. Everyone does.” His eyes twinkled as they settled on Catherine. “She’s my captain’s wife.”
A wrecker’s wife. Catherine held out little hope for the type of society that Mrs. Durning anticipated.
5
No.” It took Captain Rourke O’Malley much less time to come to a decision than it had taken Tom to formulate the question.
When Rourke returned to town at the end of the following week with the first load of salvage, Tom had been ready. At least he’d thought he was. Once face-to-face with the man who had rescued him from a near-fatal duel and had given him a new direction in life, he’d stammered out his request to forgo salvaging the wrecked ship. The answer was swift and decisive.
Tom wouldn’t let a single refusal stop him. More than a woman’s passage stood at stake.
“No gentleman would let her travel alone,” he pointed out.
“Perhaps, but this is someone you barely know. Moreover, you would be throwing away a sizable fortune, enough to set yourself up in business ashore.” Rourke leaned close. “This is the big wreck, Tom, the one we’ve all dreamed about. If you can’t convince her to stay, you’ll need to let her go.”
“I can’t.”
Rourke looked at him long and hard. “Are you in love with her?”
Tom choked and coughed. “In love? We just met.” This nagging desire to protect her couldn’t be love, even though he had paid her a call each day.
“Some do fall in love right away. It was that way for John and Anabelle.”
John was Rourke’s top captain and lifelong friend. He had married Elizabeth’s former maid and half sister after a daring escape from slavery in Key West.
“It’s not that way,” Tom mumbled, uncomfortable discussing his feelings. “I just can’t stand to think of her traveling alone.”
“Then persuade her to wait.”
“She needs to get to New Orleans as soon as possible.”
“Why?”
Tom hesitated. He couldn’t air his fear that she might be betrothed, because he had no confirmation of the reason for her haste. Neither could he mention that she too chased a dark man who could very well be the one who’d destroyed his father. He had no proof of connection, just a suspicion.
“She said she’s rejoining her mother’s family,” he finally said. “I didn’t want to pry. Maybe someone is ill or there’s trouble that only she can resolve. Regardless, she’s in a rush to get there. This week of waiting for a ship has driven her to desperation. I’m afraid she will accept the first affordable passage, regardless of safety.”
“I appreciate your good heart, Tom, but this is best left alone.”
Tom couldn’t bear letting go of her or the best chance he’d had in years to find Luis Mornez. “How long is the salvage going to take?”
Rourke’s intent gaze met his without blinking. “Until it’s done.”
He didn’t know. No one knew. Catherine Haynes could be gone by then, an innocent walking straight into trouble.
“She won’t wait until we’re done.”
“Then you have a decision to make. Are you a wrecker or not? I don’t need to remind you that stepping away from your duty will haunt you the rest of your career.”
Tom had spent all week weighing the cost. The last of his savings would go toward passage just to see Miss Haynes walk away from him into the arms of her family, likely without a second glance his way. Unless her DeMornay was the very same man he was seeking. The chances were slim, but he couldn’t let the opportunity go.
The corner of Rourke’s mouth twitched. “She must be pretty.”
Tom felt heat creep up his neck. “Some might think so.”
“Some?”
He shrugged, pretending that fiery auburn hair and those sharp green eyes didn’t send a thrill through him. “She’s English. Acts like nobility.”
Rourke chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Then I pity you, poor man.”
Tom let out his pent-up frustration in a sigh. He had a decision to make.
At the end of the week, Captain Durning joined his wife at the Admiralty Inn. That put Catherine out of her room and onto the hospitality of Tom Worthington’s friend Elizabeth O’Malley.
Tom, as she was beginning to think of him, had introduced Catherine and Mrs. Durning to the lady two days after their arrival. Mrs. O’Malley had proven every bit as gracious as Tom had promised and soon put Catherine at ease. Mrs. Durning had found the children a bit too exuberant for her taste, but Catherine enjoyed the lively atmosphere. It reminded her of the tenants’ children, and a sadness crept over her that re
fused to leave. She had failed them, and now her quest to join her mother’s family—which had sounded so perfect two and a half months ago—was flagging too.
This morning she stood on the veranda of Mrs. O’Malley’s peaceful house. A visit was entirely different from asking for lodging, even though Mrs. O’Malley had made the offer. Catherine lifted her hand to knock but hesitated. The house was too quiet, given the children. Perhaps Mrs. O’Malley was not home. She turned to leave, but the front door opened.
“Kin I help you, miss?” A Negro maid stood in the doorway, her apron white against her coal-black skin.
Catherine was not accustomed to Negro servants, there being none in the vicinity of Deerford. Moreover, Mrs. Durning had whispered after their previous visit that the maid was likely a slave. That made her more than a bit nervous this morning.
“I’m sorry. I wished to call on Mrs. O’Malley. Is she home?” Beads of perspiration formed on Catherine’s brow.
“Come in.” The maid stepped aside to let her enter the modest yet comfortable home.
Once inside the door, Catherine heard the unmistakable laughter and giggling of small children.
“I’ll fetch Miz Lizbeth. She be in the nursery.”
Catherine shrank. Not only was she begging a room, but she had called at too early an hour. “I can return later. Pray tell me when would be most accommodating.”
“Now, don’t you fret none. I’ll fetch Miz Lizbeth.”
Catherine gave up and ran through her speech in her head, all the while fussing with the clasp on her bag. She had barely enough money for passage to New Orleans, least of all room and board before securing a berth. Mr. Fromp had assured her that the Baltimore was due next week and might have room for her. If she could scrape by that long, she might have enough for the fare without selling the last of Maman’s jewelry, a set of pearl earrings.
“Miss Haynes.” Elizabeth O’Malley swept down the hall with arms open. “Do come into the parlor and have a seat. I’m delighted to see you again and hope all is well.”
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