“Salvation,” he breathed. If Miss Hopkins was still in the settlement—and despite his vain hope, instinct told him she almost certainly was; if she shared her brothers’ sterling trait of stubborn doggedness, she would be—then he could put her to use before he saw her safely aboard some England-bound vessel.
No one would question a lady with a connection to the navy—especially one who’d been told by the naval office to contact the Admiralty—posting a letter to the First Lord.
More, he could couch his request in such a way as to placate the meddlesome Miss Hopkins and make her feel that she was doing something useful with respect to finding her brother.
An exaggeration, perhaps, but not entirely untrue.
Feeling inordinately pleased at the prospect of removing two albatrosses with one stone, Robert rose, tucked the letter into the inner pocket of his loose shirt, and turned to the door.
Now all he had to do was find Miss Hopkins.
The damned woman had to be somewhere. He was determined to hunt her down.
* * *
By the time the sun set and night washed across the settlement, Robert had reverted to mentally swearing whenever he thought of Miss Hopkins. Where the devil was the infernal woman hiding?
Was she actively hiding?
Given the difficulty he was having finding any trace of her, that was no longer an idle question.
Harris had returned to the inn and was waiting to lead Robert to the house in which the men had established their observation post. After eating a quick supper, then collecting a pie and skins of ale for the three men on watch, he and Harris set off on foot.
Without raising his head, Robert scanned the houses as they trudged up the street that curved above Undoto’s church. Everything he saw confirmed his men’s assessment that the neighborhood was quiet and respectable; few people remained on the streets, while lamplight glowed inside many of the houses, and the distant murmur of voices—male, female, and the piping tones of children—suggested that families resided within.
Not a wealthy area, and certainly not one the upper echelons of local British society inhabited, but neat, relatively clean—to all appearances law-abiding.
Exactly the sort of area in which one might expect a local priest to make his home.
And by the same token, not a place one would imagine slavers lurking.
“Undoto’s place is just up there.” Harris flicked a hand toward houses farther up the street to their right. “Our place is the browny-colored house coming up on our left.”
There was a carriage—one of the anonymous hackneys that could be hired in Water Street—drawn up by the curb on the other side of the street, facing down the slope. Robert glanced at the carriage as they passed. The inside was drenched in darkness; he couldn’t see anyone inside, nor did he detect any movement. As for the driver, his head was drooping, and he appeared to be asleep.
Presumably, someone was visiting the house before which the carriage was waiting.
Facing forward, Robert turned left where Harris indicated and followed him up a short path to the browny-colored house’s front door.
The house in which his men had rented space proved to be the sort where tenants were given the key to the front door so they could come and go without hindrance while the owner lived at the rear, and privacy was preserved all around.
Walking into the front room, Robert saw two pallets lying against the inner wall, and a lantern perched on a plain table, which stood at the far end of the room with four low stools arranged around it. An old armchair had been angled to face the nearer corner of the wide front window. Long, old, but serviceable curtains had been drawn across the glass.
Coleman and Fuller were seated on stools at the table, playing some card game in the light shed by the lantern, the wick of which was turned relatively low. Closer to the door, Benson was sitting in the armchair, leaning forward and peering past the edge of the curtains.
Robert nodded to Coleman and Fuller. Leaving Harris to hand over the pie and ale, Robert crossed to the armchair. “Let me see.”
Benson rose, and Robert took his place, sinking into the cushions. With one hand, he edged aside the curtain as Benson had been doing, leaned forward, and looked out.
“It’s the one with white-painted trim and the alley going down the side of it,” Benson said. “The one with the alley between the house and us.”
Robert studied the house—just another house composed of wooden slats. “Go and have your supper. I’ll watch for a while.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Robert heard Benson cross to the table, heard the scrape of a stool as he drew it out. Robert surveyed Undoto’s house; he could have wished for a less acute angle, but they did have a clear view of the stretch of street before Undoto’s gate, the front path, the narrow porch, and the front door. They wouldn’t be able to see past the door, but at least they could see virtually all the area in front of it.
He watched the house while his men ate, and weighed and considered all the possibilities. When Harris came to relieve him of the watch, Robert relinquished the post. On his feet again, he glanced at the others, still sitting about the table. “As I see it, the slavers—assuming they come to call on Undoto—could come down the street from above or up the street from below. Or they might come to the rear of the house via that alley.”
Coleman nodded. “Aye—we were discussing that. And there’s another alley, too—more or less directly opposite Undoto’s house. But if the slavers come from above, below, or opposite, we’ll see them.”
“And if they come to the rear via the alley?” Robert asked.
Coleman grimaced, glanced at the other men, then looked at Robert. “We were thinking, what with all that you told us about what your brother said, and even what the priestess’s old woman said, that these slavers act like bullies around here. Think they’re cock o’ the walk and no one would dare get in their way, at least not at night. Seems like they’d come to the front door, even here. Wouldn’t look right for them to sneak about alleys to knock on the back door.”
Robert considered that aspect, then slowly smiled. He nodded to Coleman and the others. “You’re right. They’ll come to the front door.”
He lowered his gaze, set his hands on his hips, and put his mind to assessing how best to proceed. How to most efficiently do what needed to be done.
After several moments of deliberation, he raised his head and looked at the three men at the table. “You know what to do if the slavers come calling.”
“Just follow them to their lair,” Benson said. “No heroics. See where they go to ground, and then look for a hide from which to watch the place.”
Robert nodded in affirmation. “I’m going to leave you to it. There are other matters I can more usefully pursue.” He turned to the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve dealt with them—most likely tomorrow. If you need me, or if you see action tonight, leave word at the inn.”
To murmurs of “Aye, aye,” he left the room and quit the house. He strode back down the street, noting that the carriage he’d seen earlier was still waiting where it had been before.
Half an hour later, he was once more letting himself into Babington’s apartment above the Macauley and Babington office.
After another half hour of sipping Babington’s whisky, Robert heard Babington arrive.
Babington opened the door, stepped into the room, then jerked in surprise when he saw Robert, once again seated in one of the armchairs.
Babington’s lips compressed, and he shut the door. “We need to stop meeting like this. What if I’d brought a lady home with me?”
His gaze on Babington’s face, Robert swirled the liquid in his glass. “What about Mary Wilson?”
Babington grimaced. All resistance went out of him, and he waved their words aside.
“Why are you here? Or should I say, what do you need?”
Robert acknowledged the point with a tip of his head. “I forgot to ask you last time—have you come across a Miss Hopkins, a relatively recent arrival?”
“Hopkins?” Babington set aside his cane and shrugged out of his coat. He draped the garment over a chair, then crossed to the tantalus. He shot Robert a sharp glance. “I haven’t met or heard of any lady by that name. But is she, by any chance, connected to Lieutenant Hopkins—the one who went missing after being sent to find out what happened to Dixon?”
“Indeed. She’s his sister.” Once Babington had poured a glass of whisky and crossed to the other armchair and sat, Robert went on, “Apparently, she’s taken it upon herself to investigate her brother William’s disappearance. Her older brothers—at least, I assume they are older—David and Henry, are also in the navy and are, as far as I know, far distant with their fleets.”
Robert paused, then, frowning, continued, “The family is navy through and through. If some suggestion of Lieutenant Hopkins being absent without leave was passed back to them...” He grimaced and tossed back a mouthful of whisky.
Babington humphed. “If so, I imagine the elder Hopkinses might have been rather exercised.”
“And for whatever reason, Miss Hopkins decided she had to come out here and learn the truth.” Robert met Babington’s gaze. “Regardless of her motives, having her going around the settlement asking pointed questions is not going to aid our cause.”
Babington sipped and nodded. “So you want to find her and persuade her to go home.”
“Exactly. I’ve been searching for her for the past two days, but I haven’t yet succeeded in even spotting her.”
Babington cast Robert a curious look. “Would you recognize her if you did?”
“I think so. Henry has hair of a particular brassy brown. A coppery brown that’s not quite red. According to Sampson, she has the same.”
Babington nodded. “I haven’t spoken with Hopkins, but he has the same coloring.”
“So.” Robert drained his glass. “All I need to do is find the damned woman, explain the situation, and get her aboard some ship back to England.” He met Babington’s gaze. “My only problem is I can’t find her.”
Babington’s lips twitched. “I’ll see what I can turn up.”
“Just don’t ask questions,” Robert said. “Or do anything else to draw attention to her.” He sighed. “It’s possible she’s concealed herself or gone to ground—and you’ll note I’m trying hard not to entertain the idea that she might have gone the way of her brother and been taken, too. But it’s equally possible I just haven’t been looking in the right venues, the right places.” He looked at Babington. “I came to ask if you know of any particular social engagements the ladies of the settlement have planned for tomorrow. Either day or evening.”
Babington reached for his coat and drew out a small black book. He opened it and thumbed through the pages, eventually halting on one. “Tomorrow, I have nothing noted during the day, but that’s not unusual. During the day, if the ladies aren’t going to one of Undoto’s services, they tend to gather in small groups to chat and gossip.”
“In their homes on Tower Hill?” Robert asked.
Babington nodded. “Shopping in Water Street and the streets off it is really their only other daytime entertainment, and if you’ve been keeping watch there...?”
“I have, but if Miss Hopkins is merely visiting briefly to learn about her brother, shopping might not be high on her list of things to do.”
“The only event scheduled for tomorrow evening is a soirée to be held at the home of Major and Mrs. Winton. He’s the commissar at the fort. Nice couple. Their home is just down the hill from the fort. I won’t be going—it’ll be pure socializing, no business, and in fact, most of the settlement’s ladies are likely to attend.” Babington glanced at Robert. “Are you contemplating attending in search of Miss Hopkins?”
“Good God, no!” Robert all but shuddered at the thought. “I intend to lurk in the shadows. All I need is to set eyes on Miss Hopkins—I can follow her to a more suitable location in which to have a quiet discussion.”
After a moment, he refocused on Babington. “During the day, what streets are the most likely to host their morning and afternoon teas?”
Babington’s lips quirked. “If you’re really that desperate.” He rattled off three street names. “Houses on those three host the bulk of the ladies’ daytime get-togethers.”
Robert nodded rather grimly and rose. “Thank you.”
Babington rose, too. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for any hint of your elusive Miss Hopkins. If I learn anything, where should I send word?”
Robert told him the location of their inn. “It’s our base, and we’ll check there every so often, but we’re currently watching Undoto’s house.” Briefly, he explained their plan as Babington walked with him to the door. Halting before it, he met Babington’s gaze. “Once we learn the location of the slavers’ camp, I’m under orders to return immediately.”
Babington reached for the doorknob. “If you can, send word before you set sail—if you suddenly vanish, I won’t know what to think.”
Robert paused, then said, “If possible, I’ll send word before we go. But regardless, you’ll know if I’ve been successful or not.” He met Babington’s eyes. “Just look for The Trident in the estuary. If she’s gone, then I’m on board and bound for London with the location of the slavers’ camp in my pocket.”
“What if you get taken by the slavers and vanish, too?”
Robert’s grin was self-deprecatory. “I can give what orders I like, but my crew won’t sail without me. They’ll wait until I return—or, more likely, until Royd comes after me.”
Babington hesitated, then said, “If I haven’t heard from you in over a week and The Trident’s still out there, I’ll go out and see what the situation is.”
Robert thought, then nodded. “If it comes to that, be careful.”
Babington snorted and opened the door. “It’s not me who’s chasing slave traders.”
They shook hands, then Robert left, slipping silently out into the shadows.
CHAPTER 6
Aileen sat in the humid darkness of Dave’s carriage and stared all but unseeing through the forward window at Undoto’s front door.
Four days had passed since she’d seen the small group of heavily armed thugs, possibly mercenaries, come to Undoto’s house, then later leave. Four nights since she’d had Dave follow those thugs as far as the crest in the street. Four nights since she’d seen and sensed the menace emanating from the group’s leader and had had Dave turn aside and, metaphorically and in actuality, run away.
Although she’d watched diligently over the nights since, no more armed men had come to visit Undoto.
She didn’t know what to make of any of it—who the armed thugs were or what their connection with Undoto might be. As for what any of that might have to do with Will disappearing, she had no notion of that, either.
And yet...she felt driven to watch Undoto’s house. She continued to believe that the armed men represented some sort of clue as to where Will was.
Cloaked in the shadows, she muttered, “God knows, there’s no other trail to follow.”
A strange mix of emotions had her in its grip. Frustration was uppermost; she’d wasted most of the past four days sleeping, catching up after fruitlessly spending the hours from sunset to dawn in the carriage somewhere along Undoto’s street. But that lingering frustration was now laced with expectation; when she’d woken that afternoon, she’d realized that she’d seen the armed men on the evening following Undoto’s last service.
Undoto had held another service that day at noon. If her new hypothesis was correct and the connection was with Undoto giving a service
rather than simply Undoto himself, then the armed men should appear that night.
Over and under frustration and expectation ran a thread of apprehension.
Tonight, she needed to go at least one step further. If the armed men arrived, when they left, she’d instructed Dave to follow them as he had before, if anything hanging even farther back, ultimately turning off Undoto’s street onto the same road they’d previously taken.
Then, however, she’d ordered Dave to pull up and let her out. She was dressed in her darkest clothes; she had her hat and veil on the seat beside her and was cradling her pistol in her lap. She intended to follow the armed men on foot—at least far enough to establish whether their destination lay in the slum.
Once she’d confirmed that...
She didn’t know what she would do next; she would think of that later—one step at a time.
But no men had yet arrived, armed or not.
She’d let down the windows so she would be able to hear the tramp of feet—and so the faint stir of the night breeze might save her from expiring.
An underlying tension—nerves, a sensation she wasn’t accustomed to feeling—had her glancing briefly to the right, to the circumscribed section of street she could see.
Over the past nights, she’d had Dave draw the carriage up in different locations along the street—above Undoto’s house, below it, on this side or that. All she needed for her purpose was to see the men arrive and later leave; she didn’t need to see Undoto himself.
Dave’s carriage was as near to anonymous as a carriage could be; even his horse was a plain mid brown.
Yet seeing the stranger—the one she’d pegged as an officer when she’d seen him speaking with Sampson days before—striding along this street of all the streets in the settlement had set her nerves on edge.
Over the past evenings and nights, as well as identifying all those who lived in Undoto’s house via their comings and goings, she’d also seen the officer and his four men go into and come out of one of the houses along the street.
A Buccaneer at Heart Page 12