Moon Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  When July had nearly passed, the Sutherlands were ready to return to New York. They begged her to accompany them, but Rory was long past overdue, and Mr. Farnley’s reply should arrive any day. Alyson couldn’t bear waiting even the extra time it would take a message to reach her.

  The Lattimers welcomed her again. Mr. Lattimer had word that a British ship, the Neptune, would be arriving shortly, and he fully expected her reply to be on it. Alyson refrained from asking after the Sea Witch. Rory should have returned a month ago.

  At the end of July, the Neptune finally entered the Cooper River. Alyson paced the parlor floor. There had still been no word from Rory. What if the Neptune carried a letter telling her to come home? She had promised Rory to wait, but he had promised to come weeks ago. How could she leave without knowing what had happened to him?

  How could she not leave at the first opportunity?

  The Lattimer household lacked good reading material, so Alyson joined her hostess in the upstairs parlor. The lady greeted her with a smile but little conversation, and they sewed in silence, Alyson listening for any sound that might indicate a messenger.

  The only arrival was her host for the midday meal. To her surprise, he gestured for her to join him in his study. He stood with hands behind his back, rocking on his heels, looking pleased with himself. He had news, she knew he had, and she waited impatiently.

  “I told you I would receive an expeditious response to your problem, Lady Alyson. As I predicted, the Neptune carried your reply in today.”

  Alyson clasped her hands together and settled into the nearest chair. “May I see it, please? What does Mr. Farnley have to say?”

  “He did much better than merely sending you a letter. A lady of your consequence shouldn’t be so shabbily treated. No, he has sent a personal representative to see to your safety. I have made arrangements for you to meet with him this afternoon.”

  A personal representative? Alyson’s hopes sank. She didn’t need someone to hold her hand. She had grown accustomed to doing things her own way these last few months. A “personal representative” sounded very much like some officious aide who would insist on things being done properly—his way.

  Clenching her fingers, Alyson asked the question that bothered her most. “And the Sea Witch? Has aught been heard of her? I promised Captain Maclean . . . He was to tell me which ships would be the safest to return on.”

  Lattimer frowned. “Captain Maclean is a smuggler and quite possibly a privateer, my lady. He cannot be relied upon to keep schedules. He’s an excellent young man, but his occupation leads him into dangerous waters. He could be chasing an unsuspecting frigate or at the bottom of the ocean. I’m sure you can rely on Mr. Farnley’s representative. The Neptune is an excellent vessel. I should think that would be the one to choose.”

  Alyson hid her anguish behind a vague smile. “Of course, Mr. Lattimer. Does Mr. Farnley send me a letter? I shall need to reimburse you for your trouble.”

  “That will be discussed this afternoon. Shall we dine now, my lady?”

  Alyson picked nervously at her meal. Why hadn’t Mr. Lattimer brought this “representative” with him? Waiting did not help her state of indecision. She wanted to know what had happened to Rory. Surely, if his ship had gone down, news of it would have come to Charleston?

  Why couldn’t her visions come to her when she needed them?

  And then she realized—if the vision she had of Rory and herself were to come true, he had to be alive! Sooner or later, Rory would come after her.

  Strangely relieved, she hurried to prepare herself for her meeting with Mr. Farnley’s representative later that afternoon.

  She entered the office on Mr. Lattimer’s arm, and a gentleman in a drab brown coat rose and scraped a bow. Alyson studied his nearsighted gaze and the ink-stained calluses of his hand and decided this must be one of Mr. Farnley’s clerks. He would make a dull companion, but she doubted that he would send her to her cabin and order her to stay there.

  As usual, she paid little heed to the conversation. Apparently Mr. Farnley had sent his clerk instead of a letter, but Mr. Lattimer seemed pleased with the arrangements. Since no one handed her a purse of gold, they apparently thought her too stupid to deal with the financial details of her journey. She didn’t attempt to disillusion them. She was learning the advantage of letting men think themselves superior.

  When it became apparent they waited for a reply, Alyson offered a faint smile. “I’m sorry. My mind wandered. What were you saying?”

  She bit back a bubble of laughter at the smug look on their faces. Rory wouldn’t have put up with her vagary for a minute. She had confused him on a few occasions, but he was quick to learn and too sharp by far. He had a way of making her listen, or perhaps she just enjoyed listening to him. She would miss him on this journey home.

  “Mr. Clive would like to show you the cabin that has been reserved for you on board the Neptune to see if it meets with your approval. The vessel is part of your grandfather’s shipping line, and they will make any changes you request, but after making this extra stop, they are behind schedule. If you would go with Mr. Clive, I can send someone to pack your things. You could be off on the evening tide.”

  Alarmed by this sudden rush, Alyson instinctively drew back. “I must have a maid. And there are several gowns yet to be finished at the mantua-maker’s. I cannot possibly leave in so short a time.”

  Mr. Lattimer spoke with suppressed impatience. “Lady Alyson, far be it from me to give you advice, but it seems in your best interest if you journeyed on your own ship. Your gowns can be sent at a later date, and a maid has already been hired. Mr. Farnley is quite efficient.”

  He was quite right about that. Too damned efficient, if anyone asked her, but she could see they had no desire to hear her opinions. At least this time she could leave with some decorum instead of running off at midnight in a public coach or being thrown over the shoulder of a pirate.

  With a mild look of reproof, she took Mr. Clive’s skinny arm, nodded her head to Mr. Lattimer, and allowed herself to be escorted to the river to approve the cabin that would carry her home.

  The wharf still fascinated her, but Alyson tried not to be distracted. Her ship was difficult to miss with the head of Neptune bulging from the stern. The ship was nearly as large as a frigate, much larger than Rory’s sloop. Alyson strained to see the crow’s nest on the mainmast.

  Too large to dock at the wharf, the Neptune waited in the deeper part of the river channel. Alyson nervously joined the seamen in the little dinghy waiting for her. The heat of the July sun off the water caused her head to ache. Closing her eyelids, she rested her hand on her forehead, and the brilliant summer’s day faded.

  The gray mists in her mind parted, and instead of the formidable Neptune, she saw Rory standing at the bow of his ship, his hand shading his eyes as he gazed over a distant water. She recognized the eager impatience with which he shoved aside the spyglass someone handed to him. He looked ready to jump from the ship and swim for shore.

  The next vision came and went much faster, leaving a sense of horror and bewilderment. Cranville! He seemed much changed, worried, instead of so arrogantly self-confident. But just the sight of him shivered her with fear. He didn’t appear to be in prison.

  Alyson blinked, looked up, and found herself already on board the Neptune. She could not shake the alarming vision of Cranville, and she met the captain’s greeting with only a vague recognition of the introduction.

  Mr. Clive gestured dismissively, and the captain bowed and walked off. Alyson felt only the cold chill of apprehension and glanced toward the railing. The familiar sight of Charleston seemed a million miles out of her reach.

  “I want to return to shore,” she announced.

  Clive looked startled, then patted her hand reassuringly. “Of course, my lady. Just let me show you to your cabin. If there are changes that need to be made, we can order them before we go back into town.”

  That seemed re
asonable. At least he wasn’t arguing with her. She was still free to leave if she wished. Maybe she would just order the ship to leave without her. She ought to have the authority to do that. The only problem was that Mr. Farnley apparently hadn’t sent a bank draft. She had a few coins left, but not many. She couldn’t wait too long for another ship.

  The cabin Clive led her to had to be the captain’s cabin. She could see where his personal pictures must once have hung upon the wall, and she wondered what he used for a desk now that the only one was hers. She ran her fingers over the disfigured wood. The captain had a bad habit of slamming hard objects when angry, she surmised from the dents upon the surface. The bunk had no curtains, but the heavy duvet looked comfortable. A braided rug lay between the bunk and a brazier. She would not need Rory to keep her warm in luxury such as this.

  That thought depressed her, and she dismissed it by turning to Clive. “I must thank the captain for his sacrifice. You mentioned a maid?”

  “Yes, my lady.” He made a servile bow. “I will fetch her. Just one moment, my lady.”

  The minute he left her alone, Alyson left the cabin. Her visions were uncontrollable and usually illogical, but she was not overly given to logic. Instinct told her there was danger, but she did not know if it was for her or for Rory or for both. For all she knew, Cranville could be the one in trouble, but this ship held a clue. It was her proximity to this ship that set off the alarms. She wasn’t going anywhere on it until she knew it from stem to stern.

  Not that she knew where stem or stern were. She simply wandered wherever her feet took her. Obviously a goodly portion of the crew had been given shore leave until the tide turned. The few men she met stared at her when she smiled at them in greeting.

  She found the galley and the hold but did not venture below. What she was searching for wouldn’t be with the cargo. She hadn’t found any sign of Clive or a maid or the captain, she realized. Perhaps she ought to return to her cabin to see if they were there.

  This vague uneasiness brought her back to the companionway between the officers’ quarters, and it was there that she heard the voices. One particular voice struck fear in her heart. It couldn’t be! Cranville couldn’t be here!

  Another voice interrupted, and she couldn’t be certain she had heard right. How could Cranville be here? Her letter had warned Mr. Farnley of his treachery. Mr. Farnley would never have sent her cousin for her. She was overwrought and nervous and dodging at shadows.

  “No, I’ll surprise the girl when we sail. She’s likely to take exception to my presence, actually. She’ll blame me for her abduction, I daresay, so I won’t be high on her list of people to see. But I’ll not rest easy until I see her safe home again. She’s a bit lacking in the upper story, but she’ll come around eventually, they always do. You’ve seen her, Captain. Don’t you think she’s worth the trouble? Once you marry us, I’ll have my cabin back again.”

  Cranville’s laugh was unmistakable.

  12

  Rory’s weathered visage grew more grim as Sea Witch sailed up the river toward Charleston. Dougall sent him a wary look. If the captain’s black temper grew any worse, he would have a mutiny on his hands.

  No one in particular could be blamed for the disastrous delays that had destroyed the captain’s usually calm demeanor. Sudden squalls followed by days of no wind at all had impeded their progress throughout the journey. Any seaman knew to expect that, although they had run into more than their fair share.

  The mix-up at the docks could be blamed on an incompetent clerk, Dougall supposed, but it wouldn’t bring back the days lost while waiting to unload. And they had sailed without their full shipment of molasses because Rory had grown tired of the planters’ incessant delays.

  They lost even more time avoiding a British frigate guarding the port where they had meant to sell the cargo. Another meeting place had to be arranged, with subsequent delays, although they had unloaded the molasses faster than Dougall thought humanly possible. Still, Rory hadn’t been satisfied. He had been pacing that deck for days now, his temper growing ever shorter.

  True, they should have been back by the end of June and not the end of July. But Dougall had thought they ought to be happy to be back at all. He had expected Rory to be grinning from ear to ear at the prospect of seeing the little lass again. He certainly wouldn’t mind seeing that dreamy smile, even if she had played him for a fool. Anything could be forgiven for a smile like that.

  Instead, another string of curses rang out from the bridge, and Dougall glanced up to see what new calamity had befallen them. He groaned at the sight of the British merchant filling the narrow channel as it righted itself in preparation for sailing. The tide would turn shortly. The Sea Witch ran with it now, but if they had to wait for the big ship to embark before they could anchor, it would be hours before they could reach shore. Dougall discreetly removed himself to a task on a lower deck, out of range of Rory’s fury.

  ***

  Alyson raced to the Neptune’s rail, but not to safety. No convenient gangplank led to shore. No rowboat awaited her return. She had only minutes before they discovered her missing.

  She searched for some way down to the water, but even if she could figure out how to lower a dinghy, the chances of rowing it to shore by herself were slim.

  All the local fishing boats were out to sea, except those too derelict to sail. Heart pounding in terror, she hunted for a workman on one of the derelicts who might row out, but her screams would more likely attract Cranville than anyone on land.

  Footsteps climbed the stairs. She dropped behind a water barrel in the shadow of the bulkhead.

  Perhaps if she could find the captain . . . Surely if she owned this ship the captain would have to obey her.

  But instinct and experience warned that the captain would believe Cranville before her. Calling on the captain would be her last desperate measure.

  She listened as the footsteps turned toward the stern, and she scuttled in the opposite direction. The Neptune was large. How long could she hide?

  Alyson cursed her wide petticoats as they caught on splintery barrel staves. Her high kid heels were a nuisance, too, but if she removed them, she would be walking on her skirts. She cursed her conceit in wearing the fashionable gown.

  From the bow, she scanned the incoming river, and her hopes soared. A ship, larger than a fishing craft! Seamen were scurrying about the masts, trimming the sails in preparation for anchoring, but it was coming this way. All she had to do was make them understand she needed rescuing.

  Alyson bit back a groan of dismay. Why should that tiny sloop dare defy a British vessel of this massive size? Even if she should make it clear that she needed help, what could they possibly do?

  Knowing she would have no escape from Cranville if she allowed the Neptune to sail with her on it, Alyson bit her lip and dashed for the railing. She would do whatever it took.

  Running from the shadows into the sunlight, she was momentarily blinded, but she could see the sloop sailing closer. She took off her small frill of a cap and waved it but could not see a response. She removed her shoes, hoping to fling them to the deck to catch their attention, but when she stood up, her eyes widened.

  The Sea Witch! Rory was back! Her vision hadn’t lied.

  He wouldn’t know she was here. She wanted to scream her frustration, jump up and down and make a scene, but Rory had no way of reaching her before Cranville. She could see the men in the rigging, preparing to take down the mainsail, eager to set foot on shore. Rory would go to the Lattimers’, and by the time he returned, the Neptune would have sailed.

  Perhaps not. She cast a nervous glance to the Neptune’s masts. The crew wasn’t in the rigging yet. Perhaps they hadn’t all returned? But the idea of waiting patiently while Cranville roamed the decks did not appeal. It could be hours before Rory discovered she was gone.

  That thought and approaching footsteps caused her to panic. She screamed. She waved. She flung her shoes as hard as she could a
cross the narrowing gulf between the ships. One hit the water, but the downward draft carried the other so it glanced off the port bow.

  A seaman knotting a rope in place looked up, startled. A shout from behind her warned she had been seen.

  Still screaming, she lifted her skirt and ripped at the ties of her petticoats. She couldn’t struggle out of her gown, but if she could unhook the petticoats . . .

  “Alyson! My God, what are you doing? Alyson, stop that!” The shouts came closer, unmistakably Cranville.

  The heaviest petticoat fell off, and she flung it over the side. If the Sea Witch didn’t see that coming at them, they would all have to be blind drunk.

  She threw a glance over her shoulder. Her cousin was almost upon her, and others were running up from below at the sound of his shouts. There wasn’t time for thought.

  She placed one foot on the railing and pulled herself up to the first rung.

  ***

  At a shout from his crew, Rory glanced in the direction of the Neptune. By pulling this close, he was effectively blocking the merchant’s exit, but he wasn’t overly concerned about delaying some pompous ass of a British captain. He expected the shout to be a warning, but the sight of a woman leaning over the railing, waving her petticoat, nearly tumbled him off the deck.

  The petticoat sailed off on the wind, but Rory had already spotted the man racing down the other vessel’s deck. He could add two and two well enough.

  Cursing, he shouted orders for the dinghy to be lowered, the mainsail set, and the cannon loaded. Then, throwing off his coat as he ran, Rory dashed down to the rail in his shirtsleeves to expedite the dinghy’s progress.

  Rory cursed as he saw Cranville bearing down on Alyson while she hesitated with one leg over the top rail. “Jump, Alys, jump!” he shouted as the dinghy lowered into the water.

  “I can’t swim!” she wailed, glancing over her shoulder.