The Red Siren

by Marylu Tyndall

  h

  A wall of August heat struck Dajon as he escorted the ladies from the church onto Meeting Street.

  Sir Wilhelm wiggled his way beside Faith and offered her his arm as he squinted against the bright sun.

  She pretended not to notice and instead placed her fingers inside the crook of Dajon’s arm. He patted them and glanced down at her, delighting in the way the sunlight sparkled like embers through the curls spiraling from her bonnet. He knew he had only Sir Wilhelm to thank for her attention, but at the moment, he would accept it any way it came.

  Dajon drew in a deep breath, hoping to calm his passions, and instantly regretted it. A foul odor hung over the small town. Since most of the settlers were afraid to venture outside the city walls for fear of Indians, garbage and sewage piled up in the streets, not to mention the reek from the many animals that were slaughtered for meat. It reminded Dajon of the smell deep within his ship.

  Snapping open his snuffbox, Sir Wilhelm inhaled a pinch of powder into each nostril as if that would mask the stench. “We should return for my carriage. I will not be seen traipsing around town like commoners.”

  “But we are commoners, Sir Wilhelm.” Grace hurried her pace to step beside him, still clutching her Bible to her chest. “All of God’s creatures are equal in His sight.”

  Ignoring her, Sir Wilhelm withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed at the sweat upon his brow.

  “Why don’t you go back and retrieve your carriage, Sir Wilhelm?” Faith tossed a glance in his direction. “We will wait for you here.”

  Dajon chuckled, but when Faith squeezed his arm, he quickly disguised it with a cough.

  But Sir Wilhelm did not take the bait. Instead, he eased the cravat from his neck and whimpered something about the infernal heat.

  Hope blew out a sigh that stirred the golden curls dangling on her forehead. “Can we not go to the park now?”

  “That is where we are going, my dear,” Faith responded.

  As they proceeded past the massive white steeple of St. Philip’s, Dajon looked up to see Borland barreling toward him.

  The young lieutenant halted and came to attention. “Captain.” His gaze scoured over the ladies. “I thought I would find you at church.”

  Dajon flinched. Was that disdain tainting his voice?

  “You are needed on the ship at once.”

  Dajon’s first thoughts were of the Red Siren, or perhaps another pirate, Stede Bonnet, one of Blackbeard’s associates—a villain Dajon was determined to catch and one he’d heard frequented these waters. “Bonnet?”

  “Nay, Captain. Word is he is still holed up in a cove somewhere north of here.” Mr. Borland threw back his shoulders and puffed out his chest, no doubt for the ladies’ benefit. “And Vane has not been sighted either.”

  “Oh, pirates, how exciting.” Hope flung a hand to her bosom. Borland flashed a smile her way.

  Dajon glanced around at his entourage. “Mr. Reginald Borland, may I present Sir Wilhelm Carteret. Mr. Borland is the first lieutenant aboard my ship.” He followed with all the introductions, noting the way Borland’s gaze lingered far too long upon each lady.

  Hope stepped forward and extended her hand, offering the young lieutenant a flirtatious grin.

  Sir Wilhelm dabbed the back of his neck and adjusted his white periwig. “Mr. Waite’s first lieutenant, eh, Mr. Borland? How do you find the position?”

  A church bell tolled in the distance.

  Borland shifted his boots on the gravel. “It is good to be led by so great a commander.” He flashed a grin.

  “But would you not rather be a captain yourself?” Sir Wilhelm asked.

  “Someday I shall, I hope.” Borland still did not meet Dajon’s gaze.

  “Mr. Borland is a great seaman.” Dajon slapped him on the back. “He has already passed the lieutenant’s exam. It is only a matter of time before he is promoted, I am sure.”

  A carriage approached on their left, spewing up dirt and manure, and Dajon gestured for the ladies to move to the side of the road. The men followed as the clip-clop of the horses faded.

  “Indeed? You have served in His Majesty’s Navy for some time, Mr. Borland?” Sir Wilhelm continued to press poor Borland with his questions, giving Dajon pause. The man was up to something. But what?

  “Since I was thirteen, sir. The captain and I joined together.” Borland glanced at Dajon, and within his warm smile lay the friend Dajon had come to love as a brother. Fond memories sped through him of those early years when they had both run away to join the navy.

  “And you, Mr. Waite?” Sir Wilhelm shifted his beady gaze to Dajon.

  “I have served eleven years altogether. I took a leave from service after six years to join my father’s merchant business but then returned to the navy five years ago.”

  “Did you not find the merchant business to your liking, Mr. Waite?” Sir Wilhelm asked.

  Dajon gazed at the dirt-encrusted cobblestones and swallowed down a lump of bad memories. “I did not, sir.”

  “Hmm. A master and commander already, Mr. Waite. Quite impressive, is it not, Mr. Borland?”

  Dajon studied his friend, expecting to see his approval, his agreement, anything but the stone-faced expression he wore. He shifted his stance before giving Sir Wilhelm a forced smile. “Quite.”

  Then, raising his chin, he nodded toward Dajon. “We must go, Captain. An important post from the Admiralty has just arrived.”

  “Of course.” Dajon turned toward the women. “I fear I must leave you ladies in Sir Wilhelm’s capable hands.” His attempt to conceal a smile faltered, invoking an angry glance from Faith.

  “I am sure we can find our way home, Sir Wilhelm.” She turned to the man and waved him on in dismissal. “You must have far more pressing matters to attend to.”

  “Nonsense. I will not stand for it. It would be my utmost delight to escort you home.” He proffered his elbow.

  “But I thought we were going to the park,” Hope whined, stamping her foot.

  “If you will excuse me for a moment.” Faith tugged on Dajon’s arm, leading him to the side. “You will not leave me alone with this man.” She ground out the words as if they sliced her lips.

  “Why, Miss Westcott, I had no idea you cared so much for my company.” He gave her a mischievous grin, noting the scowl she returned. “But. . .” He cocked his head. “I suggest you get used to Sir Wilhelm, for I fear the fortune you expect to make from your soap business will not be sufficient to care for you and your sisters. I have yet to see you make a single bar.”

  He winked at her and walked away.

  As he made his way down the street with Borland marching at his side, his thoughts shot to the red-haired beauty he had left fuming behind him. Alarm made his skin bristle as another red-haired woman filled his mind. This one no beauty but a vixen, a murderer, a thief—the Red Siren. He must capture this woman pirate, whoever she was, and bring her to justice. But how?

  A trap.

  Yes, of course. He would spread information throughout town about the location of a treasure ship—a ship whose hull overflowed with jewels, a ship the Red Siren would not be able to resist. Then he would lie in wait and see if she took the bait.

  Chapter 16

  Closing the front door on Sir Wilhelm’s appalled, bloated face, Faith blew out a sigh and leaned back against the oak slab.

  “I’ll be in my chamber,” Grace shouted as she bounded up the stairs.

  Sweeping the bonnet from her head, Hope giggled. “You shouldn’t treat your betrothed with such disregard.” A playful gleam danced across her eyes.

  “He is not my betrothed, and I simply refuse to spend the day with that imbecile. ’Twas bad enough we were forced to endure his escort home—thanks to Mr. Waite.” Insufferable man.

  “But a headache? Could you not think of something more believable?”

  Faith huffed and rubbed her temples, where a dull burning had formed. “Truth be told, the man does give me a headache.
” She laughed, and Hope joined her.

  “Now we have the rest of the day to spend together.” Hope’s eyes lit up. “What shall we do?”

  Yanking the pins from her hair, Faith ran her fingers through her curls, freeing them from their tight bindings and giving herself a minute to think. After Mr. Waite’s skeptical taunt, she knew she had no choice but to devote her afternoon to creating at least the illusion of running a successful soap business. The man was pure exasperation! His suspicions were ruining her plans. But what to do with her sister? “I have just the thing.” She forced a smile. “Why don’t you help me make soap?”

  “Make soap with you?” Hope snapped. “Why would I want to do that? ’Tis smelly and dirty.”

  “Come now, I assure you it will be enjoyable.” Faith slid her arm inside Hope’s and smiled. “And you can tell me all about what is going on in your life.”

  “No.” Hope jerked from her grasp and backed away. “You promised to take me for a stroll in the park. You promised we would spend the entire day together, not slave away in some hot, sweaty kitchen.”

  “I can hardly take you to the park without proper escort. You have Mr. Waite to thank for that.” Faith snorted. “And I fully intend to spend the day with you. That is why I am asking for your assistance.”

  “I should have known.” Hope tugged on a lock of her hair and shook her head. “I should have known you would not follow through with your promise. Once again I find you are not to be trusted.” She clung to the carved banister in the entrance hall, her chest heaving beneath her violet muslin gown.

  Anger stormed through Faith. Spoiled girl. “Not to be trusted? How dare you? Why, I am doing this all for you. You and Grace.”

  “For me, you say?” Hope’s laugh took on a caustic tone. She waved a hand back toward the kitchen. “This is not for me nor for Grace. You are doing this for yourself, and you know it. At least be honest about that.” She sniffed and raised the back of her hand to her nose.

  The words stung Faith in a place so deep within her heart that they left her speechless. She didn’t know whether to scream or to cry. Finally, she inched toward Hope, giving her a soft, playful look. “We will have fun, I promise.”

  Hope’s sapphire eyes glossed over with tears. “You are doing this for yourself, and you know it,” she repeated, her accusing words echoing in Faith’s ears like one of Morgan’s shrill parodies.

  Faith longed to tell Hope that she would love nothing more than to spend a day in town strolling through the park, enjoying her sister’s company as if they were a pair of giddy schoolgirls. She wanted to tell her that her ruse of soap making was merely a cover for the real fortune Faith was acquiring on Hope’s behalf.

  But she didn’t. All she said instead was, “’Tis your choice. I must make soap. If you choose to join me, I would be most pleased. If not, you can hardly blame me for not spending time with you.”

  Daggers of fury shot from Hope’s eyes as she spun on her heel and ran upstairs. The slamming of her chamber door boomed across the house like an ominous gong. Why did it seem that the harder Faith tried to help her sisters, the greater a mess she made of everything?

  h

  Sir Wilhelm Carteret crept into the corruption of his mother’s sickroom. Though Miss Westcott had played the timid devotee today, he sensed a true regard, perhaps even affection, growing within her toward him. A pure lady, one inexperienced in the world, would certainly be somewhat frightened at the prospect of marriage—and in particular, the marriage bed. He grinned. That would explain her hesitant and even diffident behavior toward him, to be sure. He squeezed his nose against the miasma of stale breath, sweat, and disease that had taken residence within and now assailed him. A sickly moan reached his ears, and he swerved on his heels, suddenly rethinking his visit. But he must procure his mother’s approval of the match before he pursued Miss Westcott further. And he knew that wouldn’t be an easy task.

  “Willy, is that you?” The cracked voice split the thick air in the room.

  “Yes, Mother, ’tis I.” Sir Wilhelm tensed and trudged toward the oak bed at the center of the dismal chamber.

  “What are you doing sneaking around in the dark? Light a lamp and come forward.” She hacked a moist cough before continuing. “So much like your father. He always was a rat who preferred the darkness.”

  Retrieving a lamp from the walnut desk, Sir Wilhelm thrust a stick of pinewood into the glowing embers in the fireplace and lit the wick. The fire, which his mother insisted be kept burning day and night despite the weather outside, kept the master chamber both stifling and filled with smoke. Sir Wilhelm strained for a breath of fresh air as he approached the bed, the lantern casting an eerie glow over the walnut desk and chairs that guarded the base of the window and a vanity squeezed into the right corner. Wilhelm rounded a velvet divan and tripped over a pewter basin that protruded from beneath the bed. It was well past emptying, and vile contents of the chamber pot sloshed over his left ankle. Beside it, a bitter vapor wafted from a glazed apothecary bowl full of the physician’s latest mixture of herbs intended to cure his mother. A thin sheet of sunlight sliced through an opening in the heavy curtains and landed on the spilled contents of the chamber pot.

  Setting the lantern on the bed stand, he sniffed and peered down at the swollen, pasty pallor of his mother’s face. She had once been quite comely, but age and sickness, in addition to her constant disagreeable spirit, had sapped her beauty long ago. Dark, hollow eyes shot to his, ever spewing their venom wherever they landed.

  On second thought, perhaps she had never been beautiful.

  “What have you been about, Willy? I trust you have been down to the House of Assembly as I instructed. You need to ensure the proprietor’s voice among these barbaric settlers.” She struggled to sit, flinging out a shaky hand for his assistance. “There are rumblings of dissent—especially among those who call themselves the Goose Creek men. They want Carolina to become a British colony. Can you imagine? Then where would we be?”

  Wilhelm reached behind his mother and assisted her into a sitting position, holding his breath against the stench of death that clung to her these past several years. “We would still have our landholdings, Mother.”

  Lady Eleanor Carteret, daughter of the Earl of Devenish, married to the son of Sir George Carteret, one of the original proprietors of the realm of Carolina, squared her shoulders and lifted her regal chin in the air as if her bed were the throne of England. But her breath came in short gasps, and she collapsed on the pillow behind her, breaking the facade of superiority that had more times than not sparked fear in all those around her.

  “Land without power is meaningless. There is plenty of land in this new world for everyone.” She pointed a crooked finger at him. “Power is what will secure our interest and our future.”

  Wilhelm turned his head and sneezed, his nose burning in the infested room.

  She gestured to a mug on the bed stand. “Hand me my elixir and tell me your news of Parliament.”

  Wilhelm grabbed the mug, took a whiff, and nearly gagged at the pungent odor, then placed it in his mother’s trembling hands. He held his nose. “What is that putrid stench?” He plucked his snuffbox from his pocket.

  “’Tis the medicines Dr. Kingston has prescribed for me. With these and the weekly bleedings, he guarantees my full recovery.” She took a sip, sending the loose skin of her face folding in on itself.

  “He will guarantee anything as long as you pay him.” Wilhelm sniffed a speck of powder then slumped his shoulders, allowing the calm sensation to filter through him.

  “Enough of that. Tell me what is happening in the council.”

  “I did not attend today. I had some business at Admiral Westcott’s home.”

  “Pray tell, what business? Unless you have overcome your seasickness and plan on following in your grandfather’s grand footsteps.” She scrutinized him. “Not that you could. I fear you are not made of the same stout material.”

  “Ad
miral Westcott has been called to Italy, and. . .” Wilhelm ran a hand under his nose.

  “Quit sniffing and be out with it!”

  He straightened his back. “He has promised me his daughter Faith’s hand in marriage when he returns.”

  “As wife? Finally. I thought you would never draw the eye of a decent lady. Now perchance I will see grandchildren before I die.”

  Wilhelm fidgeted with a wrinkle in the sheets by his knee.

  “Although an admiral’s daughter is certainly beneath your station, I suppose a man like you cannot be too particular.” His mother pushed a spike of her wiry gray hair behind her.

  Wilhelm shifted the muscles in his back beneath his mother’s insults. He should be used to them by now, but for some reason, her words always hit their mark. “Regardless of her lineage, I assure you, she is a fine match. Beautiful, intelligent, strong. You would like her.”

  “Perhaps.” Closing her eyes, she leaned back onto the mound of pillows. “But it would have been nice to see you joined with a lady of your own class. Especially after all I have done for you. Ensuring your place in Parliament and among the lord proprietors instead of your Uncle Phillip. Do you realize the risks I took? The powerful people I crossed?” She coughed and held her chest as if she were taking her last breath. “Without me you would be nothing but a sniveling incompetent. You know everything I have done—everything I ever do—is for you.” A tear escaped her eye and weaved a crooked trail around line and wrinkle.

  “I know, Mother, and I am eternally grateful. I owe you everything.” Without her strength, her brains, her devious plots, his uncle Phillip would have taken over as head of the Carteret family.

  Yet he tired of the invisible chain that held him locked to her, as if the umbilical cord had never been severed. It sickened him as much as empowered him.

  Lady Eleanor huffed. “Nevertheless, I will be pleased to see you married.” She looked away. “But you must promise to attend Parliament and follow my instructions to the mark. The future of this family depends on you.”