Mr. Brown refused the offer. “Nonsense. Passage will be small. Keep the money for the orphanage.”
Keep the money for the orphanage. The man was an angel. God had graciously sent her an angel.
“Drink your coffee, dearest. Our meal should arrive soon.”
Lifting her cup, Amelia relaxed, relieved to have the weighty matter settled. She had finally done something right. For a moment the situation looked as if she might be forced to return to Morgan Kane and plead for his help. She smiled. She didn’t need him. She’d arranged for safe passage on the morning tide without his rude interference, thank you.
Over bites of succulent beef, Amelia chattered with Mr. Brown, who cut thick steak slices, clearly hanging on to every word she spoke. Not many men would be so openly curious or even care about her past. And it was rare indeed that she would eat beef. Not bad. Not bad at all.
“And you have no family other than your two sisters? You don’t know the outcome of their recent misfortune?”
Amelia nodded, careful not to speak with a mouthful. “The San Miguel mission sisters are the only mothers we have known.”
“I applaud such goodness and sacrifice, and I am confident that my friend, Captain Garrison, will be delighted to be of service. When we’re finished here, I’ll take you to his ship. You can settle in there for the night and be fresh for an early morning departure.”
“This is so very kind of you.” It was all Amelia could do not to nod off during the meal. The delicious food and sympathetic company… The day had been long and exhausting.
“My pleasure, dear.” Lifting his water glass higher, Mr. Brown toasted her. “For such a rare beauty, indeed, it is my deepest pleasure.”
Three
Two figures sank deeper into the shadow between the buildings. Streetlamps burned low.
“I was beginning to think we’d missed connections.”
“Sorry. I was unavoidably delayed.”
The figures pressed closer together, conversing in hushed undertones. “Do you have the information?”
“Lanigan has been detained in New Orleans. Details are sketchy, but he won’t be in port when expected.”
The shorter figure swore, casting a wary glance to the entrance of the alleyway. “We have to sit it out? Wait?”
“There would be no point in going after him if we know he’ll be coming here.”
“This time he won’t escape us.”
“Not this time. He’ll come to us.”
“This means we’ll be sitting here for days.”
“Could be longer. My information is he has been delayed. There was no timeline given.”
A rowdy group of sailors crossed the alley, their boisterous laughter sending the figures deeper into the shadows. When the group had passed, a voice spoke again.
“We sit tight.”
Silence. Then, “Do we have a choice?”
“None. I’ll find you when the time is right.”
“I’ll be near. Let’s hope this doesn’t take weeks—or months.”
The two figures parted at the entrance of the alley, walking in opposite directions.
A crescent moon had risen by the time Morgan entered the Drunken Monkey. He spent the entire day tracking the impulsive “nun.” Yes, he vowed she was on her own and even meant it, but common sense wouldn’t allow him to walk away from a helpless child. Amelia McDougal was far from a child, but she was incapable of dealing with a brutal world, so he’d spent the afternoon in the shadows, tracking her whereabouts.
She had done fine until she’d met a man shortly after dark. From what he could tell, the man was up to something. Thus his purpose in the hot, noisy Drunken Monkey when he preferred a bed and soft pillow. Amelia and the man hung together through dinner, and then the stranger walked her to a vessel moored in the harbor.
Why? Had she told him her absurd story? Had the man, like Morgan, taken pity on the helpless young woman? Or was there a sinister reason the stranger took to the young beauty under his protection? Women—both black and white—were being sold into slavery at an alarming rate. If he were to guess, he would say many of the large ships in port held these prisoners.
Morgan followed the stranger back to the hotel dining room and sat at a table in a dark corner, where he waited to order a hot buttered rum. Once he had given his order, his attention was drawn to the center of the room, where the stranger—Brown, someone called him—was now clustered in a small group of men around a large table. Loud but friendly males dominated the noisy pub. Morgan planned to stay long enough to determine whether Amelia followed his command and found safe passage to Mercy Flats. He doubted it.
His mind drifted briefly to the young woman he watched board a vessel in the harbor with Brown. Only his familiarity with Amelia’s naïveté made him wonder if the vessel was bound for Houston or elsewhere.
She was an odd package. If he weren’t so pressed for time, he might have been more accommodating and seen her safely home, but apparently she’d heeded his words and purchased passage, and she would be back at the convent soon. He was here only to confirm his guesswork.
A chair sailed past his table, shattering a long row of liquor bottles behind the counter. A fistfight had broken out, sending the occupants of the bar scattering. When order was restored, he returned to his chair, his attention centered on the group of men seated at the round table.
“I’m telling you, I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“Nay, guv’nor, you’re puttin’ us on,” another scoffed.
“I swear on my mother’s grave, it happened exactly as I said.” Brown threw back his head and laughed uproariously. “The silly little twit offered to pay me!” The pub vibrated with male merriment.
“You actually mean she wanted to pay you to book her passage on the Black Widow?” another hooted. “And I suppose you took the offer!”
“Of course not. I am a gentleman. I offered to pay her way.”
Another round of hoots broke out.
“This woman must be ugly as sin,” a man sitting to Brown’s right surmised in a droll tone.
“On the contrary.” Brown’s smile faded. “She’s a comely young beauty lying at this very moment in her bunk aboard the Black Widow. She’s really quite lovely and will bring a pretty price on the market.”
The men rocked back in their chairs, clutching their sides.
Silly twit. Rare beauty. Morgan mentally groaned. Amelia McDougal was seriously testing his stamina. His drink arrived, momentarily distracting him.
“It’s a stroke of luck, to be sure,” the well-dressed man mused as laughter subsided. “I usually have to knock them senseless, tie them up, and drag them to the ship. But this one just up and insisted that she pay for the privilege. Wouldn’t have it any other way.” With a snort, he burst into laughter again.
“Is she securely snared?”
“Ah yes. The lovely nightingale is safely in her nest, and I can assure you, gentlemen, that she, fairest of the fair, will bring top price from Lanigan.”
“Heard this Lanigan likes them young and impressionable as new-fallen snow,” a man observed.
“That he does.” Brown leaned back to light a pipe. “And that she is. Miss McDougal will bring a handsome price.”
“You know Lanigan personally?”
“Never met the man, but I’ve heard of his preferences. Only wise to know the market one’s selling to, wouldn’t you say, gents?”
The men nodded in agreement.
“This Lanigan—is he as good as his reputation?”
“None better,” Brown confirmed. “He is the king of the seas and master of treachery.” He winked. “It is a pleasure to work for him.”
“Not the Sunday school type, eh?”
The remark brought another round of raucous laughter.
Talk continued about Dov Lanigan’s expertise with a knife and a woman. The heartless privateer with an exorbitant price on his head was rumored to be unrivaled in his field.
“How do we know we can trust him?” said another. “None of us has ever met him. How can we be sure he won’t cheat us?”
Exhaling smoke from his pipe, Brown smiled. “I’ll take care of Lanigan. His reputation doesn’t intimidate me. He’s a man, same as us, making a living best as he can. You don’t run blockades and sell contraband for as many years as I have without risking your neck and sullying your reputation. But those days are over, gentlemen. Dealing in stolen women is a lot easier and a lot less risky. Hauling their whining carcasses across the sea is a bothersome task but not without rewards, my friends.” His smile grew sly. “Not without a few rewards.”
Morgan tossed the last of his drink down. The image of Dov Lanigan surfaced in his mind. The picture portrayed a dark-haired man, tall, about Morgan’s age, without distinguishing features or scars. A man could walk past the notorious scum on the streets and never know he was wanted for high treason.
“I’m for selling the woman here,” one of the men challenged. “If this one is as beautiful as you say, she’ll bring top price right here in Galveston. Why split the bounty with Lanigan?”
“No!” Brown snapped. “Once Lanigan sees Amelia McDougal, he’ll want her for his own. Nary a man who sees her could resist the temptation, and if the boss wants her, he’ll pay even more for her.” A sly grin crossed the man’s features. “He’ll not like it, but he knows money speaks.”
“I say a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” another interjected. “I say we sell her right here, right now, tonight!”
The other men added their impassioned, rowdy agreements.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, keep your heads. From what I’ve seen of our other women, they’ll bring a mere pittance compared to what this woman will, if what Brown says is true,” another argued.
Morgan shifted in his chair. How, in the brief time since he had left her, had she managed to fall into the clutches of these unscrupulous thugs?
“I’m still running things, and we do as I say!” Brown snapped. “A deal is a deal. Lanigan’s brother has assured me Lanigan will pay top price for any woman I bring him of exceptional beauty. Now, gentlemen, you would not have me go back on my word? There is, after all, honor to consider, even among thieves.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. I was starting to wonder,” a deep voice rumbled from the darkest corner of the pub.
Swiveling in their seats, the men scanned the shadows.
“Who’s there? Show yourself,” Brown commanded.
Morgan calmly slid his hand inside his boot, touching the butt of his dagger. He was playing with fire now, but he couldn’t allow the McDougal woman to be sold into bondage—though the thought was mildly tempting.
A burly man, eyes narrowed, went for his pistol. “I know how to rid us of nosy rats!”
Coming to his feet, Morgan set the dagger on its course. In the wink of an eye, the knife pinned the sleeve of the man’s shirt solidly to the post. The man’s pistol discharged harmlessly into the air before clattering to the floor.
Pushing back from his table, Brown rose to face the marksman. “There is only one this good with a knife. Dov Lanigan—I thought you were delayed.”
Emerging from the shadows, Morgan casually strolled over to retrieve his knife. Brown had said he’d never met Dov Lanigan. Morgan was going to have to trust his word. The owner of the pistol mumbled and rubbed his shoulder as he turned away from Morgan’s cold, measuring eyes.
“Dov Lanigan?” Brown repeated softly. “The manner in which you are dressed, like an impoverished farmer, I never suspected.”
Morgan fixed him with a cold stare. “If I were you, Mr. Brown, I’d be more careful about my public conversations.”
Brown repented. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lanigan, I wasn’t thinking.” Fumbling for a chair, he offered a seat to the living legend. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” He extended his hand. “Odd that we’ve been doing business for…what? A year? And I haven’t had the pleasure.”
The two men shook. Apparently Lanigan sent his runners to purchase the women.
When Morgan was seated, Brown nervously signaled the bartender for a round of drinks.
“You took me by surprise,” Brown admitted as he pulled his chair up to the table. “I understood you were delayed in New Orleans.”
“I was, but unexpected business made it necessary that I be here tonight.” Amelia’s safety should no longer be his concern, yet he could hardly stand by and knowingly let her be sold by this unscrupulous warthog. And if Dov Lanigan was nearby, all the better. Morgan would be back on track with his mission, and the costly delays would prove to be blessings. The Lord did work in mysterious ways.
The drinks arrived. Morgan methodically drained his glass, stalling for time. Now what? He was committed to be Lanigan, but he wouldn’t be able to carry on the ruse indefinitely. Brown would catch on to the ploy, and both Morgan’s and Amelia’s lives would be at risk.
Some of the men wiped their hands across their lips when they finished.
“Where’s the woman?” Morgan asked.
“Safely aboard the Black Widow,” Brown assured him.
“She’s uncommonly beautiful, you say?”
“Ah, uncommonly so. Eyes the color of spring grass, rich carmine hair, and a figure men would surely go to their graves for. She’ll bring twice what you pay for her.”
“An amount which I assume will be considerable?”
Brown’s smile grew sheepish. “You pay for quality—isn’t that what they say?”
“I’m curious about one thing. If she’s so lovely, why not keep her for your pleasure?”
Brown chuckled. “I see that you are not a fool. There isn’t anything I own that isn’t for sale at the right price. She is yours if you want her. It’s your good fortune that one so exceptionally lovely should happen into my hands. That isn’t often the case.”
Morgan couldn’t stall any longer. The ruse could be over as quickly as it had started. With a cool smile, he said quietly, “Take me to this most lovely one.”
“Certainly.” Shoving back from the table, Brown stood up. “If you’ll follow me.”
Morgan nodded to the others. “You will excuse us, gentlemen?”
A moment later the two men left the bar to view the spoils of the trade.
Four
Something fishy was going on. And the smell wasn’t just the revolting stench permeating the old clipper. Amelia couldn’t say what, but something was terribly wrong. She’d felt it the moment Mr. Brown brought her aboard. Her gaze roamed the tiny cabin smelling of dead fish. What had she gotten herself into this time? The image of Morgan Kane flashed through her mind, and she groaned, glad that Morgan couldn’t see her now. Mr. Brown was nice, but his friend’s ship was deplorable. No wonder the captain of this vessel had so little to do that he could drop everything and see her back to Mercy Flats. The ship was a disgrace to the ocean.
Rolling off the narrow bunk, she tiptoed to the door, listening. When she’d come aboard, she noted how the old vessel creaked under the weight of the heavy timber as it rocked back and forth in the water. The ship was large, with heavy masts and yards. The old boat wasn’t pretty, but she imagined it served a purpose. Exactly what, she wasn’t sure.
Straining closer to the door, she listened more intently. She was certain she’d heard a woman sobbing.
She returned to the bunk and sat down to think. Her gaze roamed the tiny quarters. She didn’t know anything about ships, but common sense told her Mr. Brown had overpaid to travel on this one. The quarters were plain and cramped. And reeking of dead sea life. Even Mr. Brown’s captain friend smelled as if he hadn’t seen soap and water in months.
She sat upright when the sound came to her again. A low, despairing wail amid creaking timbers.
Slipping from the bunk, she opened the door a crack and peeked at the narrow, deserted passageway. A whale oil lantern on the wall burned low, barely illuminating the narrow corridor.
> Straining to hear, she listened as the sound grew more distinct.
Glancing behind her, she spotted a candle sitting on the washstand. She reached over and grasped it, allowing the door to swing wider.
Moving cautiously into the hallway, she paused to listen. Her surroundings made her uneasy. Something felt evil about the old craft, an impression she was powerless to explain. She wished she had waited until morning and then bought a ticket to Mercy Flats on the stagecoach, even if she’d been forced to wait a few days. It might have taken her longer to get home, but the money would have been better spent.
Feeling her way down the corridor, she followed the sound of weeping. The oil lamp provided barely adequate light, casting elongated shadows through the passageway.
When she neared the end of the hallway, she noticed a door slightly ajar. She could barely make out the silhouette of a young girl sitting alone on a narrow cot, sobbing. A rush of pity flooded her. The poor girl was probably traveling alone and as frightened as she was.
She moved closer, tapping softly on the door. “Hello?”
When she received no invitation to enter, she peeked around the door into the cramped quarters that were larger but just as unpleasant as her own. The ship’s captain should be ashamed to operate such a disorderly establishment. The good sisters said cleanliness was next to godliness, but it didn’t appear either applied here. She didn’t see how the ship’s owners could hope to maintain a thriving business when they apparently cared so little for their customers’ comfort.
“Hello.” Amelia summoned a pleasant smile for the girl, who appeared to be very young. Perhaps barely into her teens.
The girl’s head shot up, and Amelia saw that she was not only crying but was pale and appeared disoriented.
“Don’t be afraid,” Amelia began. “I heard you crying, and I wondered if there was anything I could do.” Her words faltered when she noticed the young girl wasn’t alone. Squatting along the walls of the cramped room were other young women of varying ages, all looking at her with equally desperate expressions. Mentally counting, Amelia decided there were nine in this cramped rat hole.
Amelia and the Captain Page 4