Specters. Mere specters.
Whoever he was, he had made a magnanimous gesture, as the ink was still wet on the treaty between Britain and its former colonies—a document that that done little to dispel the tensions between both countries, especially on maritime matters. But no doubt, he took the pragmatic view that a favor given allowed him to ask for one in return. A useful bargaining chip to have when one was in foreign waters.
“Merriweather seems hesitant to say how long repairs will take.” Saybrook slipped out of the shadows and came to join her.
“I suppose that's understandable,” she replied. “The naval yards are responsible for the entire Mediterranean fleet. We shall likely have to wait our turn—and God only knows what that will mean regarding time.”
“It shouldn’t be difficult to find other transport to Elba from here,” he said softly.
She glanced around before replying. “The same thought also occurred to me.” A pause. “What of Wolff and the baroness?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Shadows flitted over the water, the patterns everchanging as they darted in and out of the shimmying pools of light cast by the mooring lanterns of the surrounding ships. Quicksilver blurs, taunting the eye with their here-and-then-gone moment. In their past investigations, the shapes of the challenges had seemed more defined.
Or maybe it was simply hindsight that gave them the illusion of clarity.
A sigh slipped from her lips.
Saybrook’s hand touched hers, just for a moment, the warmth of it melting some of the ice in her belly. “At present,” he finally said, “our two traveling companions seem more of a distraction than a help.”
From somewhere in the twilight tangle of ships, there rose the sound of sailors singing. Despite the coarseness of their voices, there was something soothing about the light-hearted show of spirits.
“It's hard to say if that will change in the future,” he added, “as we don't know what they've been tasked to do, and how that might affect our objectives.”
As usual, he attacked a problem with dispassionate logic.
“So . . .” She smiled. “Why don’t we ask them?”
He let out a brusque laugh. “And you would believe their answers?”
“No, but what they do say about their intentions might give away more than they wish to.”
“Ye god, what a very devious mind you have.”
“That shouldn’t surprise you.”
Arianna caught the whisper of damp wool as he shifted against the railing and added, “You constantly surprise me.”
Shadows hung heavy on his dark lashes. She wished that she could see his eyes. “Not always in a good way, I fear.”
“Good and bad. Such stark simplicities are rarely adequate to describe Life.” He, too, seemed in a strange mood. But his hand found hers and as their fingers twined together, she felt a tingle of reassurance.
A pinch of guilt tightened her throat. She couldn’t imagine her life without his steadying presence. Surely he knew that. Perhaps . . .
Arianna hesitated, then shook off the thought. Expressing emotions didn’t come easily, and now was not the time to bring up personal matters. Not with his cousin’s life hanging in the balance.
Distractions were dangerous.
“Sandro, about Eduardo . . . We must—”
Her words died away as he brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “It’s never wise to plot strategy in the aftermath of a tumultuous day. I suggest we wait until morning, when our heads are clearer.”
He was right, of course. There hadn’t been time to reflect on the day’s topsy-turvy events and what they meant for the mission.
They stood in companionable silence for an interlude, listening to the rhythmic slap of water against the hull.
“I think I’ll go below and do some reading,” he finally said.
“I’ll join you shortly.”
Starlight dipped and danced through his wind-ruffled hair as he turned away, not before giving a warm squeeze to her hand before releasing it. “Don't be long.”
He was right. Life was rarely defined in stark simplicities.
“And yet,” she murmured once she was alone, “mine seems shaded in a surfeit of complexities and conundrums.” . . .
None of which were likely to be solved by assuming a Byronic brooding and staring up at the scudding clouds.
With a wry sigh, Arianna drew her cloak in a bit more tightly and started to pick her way through the shadows of the foredeck. Some crates had been moved up from the hold in order to get at the rudder cables, and they now crowded the space just aft of the mainmast. Taking care not to trip over the lashings, she ducked under the canvas awning—
And stopped short as she saw the baroness and Wolff seated close together on one of the gun trucks, deep in conversation. The creaking of the stays must have covered her footsteps for they didn’t look up.
Arianna pressed against the mast and went very still.
“ . . . I’m sure she suspects I’m up to no good.” Jelena sounded agitated.
“Of course she does,” said Wolff dryly. “Calm yourself—we all suspect each other. We’d be fools not to.”
“But I think she heard me . . .” A gusty sigh. “Did you get what you were looking for in the captain’s cabin?”
Get what? wondered Arianna. Holding her breath, she strained to hear Wolff’s answer.
“I had to cut short my search because of the squall—I didn't dare take a chance that Holden would return. I need another chance to examine the contents of his writing table.”
The baroness made an unhappy sound in her throat. “You will have to find a way to do it on your own, sir. My skills are honed for the ballroom or the boudoir, not this sort of skulduggery. It's too . . . dangerous.”
“Oh, come, Lady Plessy-Moritz. Danger is like a drug to people like us.” He paused. “And if you wish to be reunited with Johannes, you will have to take some risks.”
Jelena flinched, causing the hood of her cloak to slip down around her shoulders. “H-How do y-you know . . .” Her face was ashen, her voice trembling. “I—I thought the minister, however hard, was a man of his word. H-He promised me . . .”
“Grentham said nothing,” said Wolff, cutting off her stammering. “I have my own sources.” He shifted, the upturned collar of his coat casting a deeper shadow over his well-shaped face. “The minister only cares about getting what he wants. We’re simply pawns on his chessboard, easily sacrificed to protect the more important pieces. But you help me, and I may be able to help you.”
As they ghosted past an anchored ship of the line, the oily glow from its stern lights caught the look of naked vulnerability on Jelena’s face.
Arianna had no fondness for the baroness, but she felt a twinge of pity. Anyone who trusted that Wolff had a grain of conscience and would act out of anything other than self-interest was doomed to disappointment. But then, Jelena was no stranger to the underworld of lies and intrigue. If she chose to be seduced by vague promises, so be it.
“Is that a pledge of honor, Count?” The baroness had regained her composure, along with her sardonic smile. “Or merely a spoonful of honey to sweeten me up?”
Wolff shrugged. “You know better than to expect honor among thieves. But that doesn’t mean I won’t help you.”
“What you ask won't be easy. You heard the captain earlier—he expects us all to take lodging in a tavern while repairs are made to the ship.” She made a face. “I shall welcome a real bed.”
“Holden will be occupied in the dockyards and chandleries for much of tomorrow arranging the logistics. And as the ship will be berthed at the docks, we’ll be free to come and as we please.”
“What’s so bloody important—” began Jelena, then bit off the question. “Never mind.” Hugging her arms to her chest, she rose. “I’ll think about what you ask.”
“Do,” said Wolff softly as the baroness turned away and disappeared into hatchway leading dow
n to the lower deck. He made no move to go with her. Crossing his legs, he shifted to a more comfortable position.
Snick-snick—a spark flared as flint struck steel, followed by a puff of smoke.
“You still favor those dreadful Indian cheroots?” murmured Arianna, just loud enough for him to hear.
He blew out a perfect ring of smoke and watched it dissolve in the breeze. “I find spice adds a certain je ne sais quoi to life.”
“Too much spice can burn the tongue.”
“Better that than a diet of bland nothingness.”
Arianna stepped out of her hiding place and moved to the ship’s railing. “What are you up to, Wolffy?”
A snort of laughter as a mouthful of smoke went up his nose. “I’ve missed you, Annie.”
“Why? Because I'm the only one honest enough to shove your charming lies back in your teeth?”
“There’s that.” He inhaled deeply and held the smoke in his mouth for a long moment before blowing out a fragrant cloud.
The scent of peppered cloves and coriander stirred long-ago memories. Not all of them good ones.
“And the fact that I admire your mind.” Another puff. “As well as your body, but I suppose there’s not a hope of that.”
It was her turn to laugh. “No—there never was.”
“You always did keep your corset—and your thoughts—tightly laced. Though I did wonder for a time about that dashing young American lieutenant . . . What was his name?”
“I don’t remember,” she replied. “Stubble the attempts at distraction. You haven’t answered my question.”
“Ah, the dramatic moment when we set aside past peccadilloes and bare our souls.”
She said nothing. With Wolff, silence was an effective weapon. He liked the sound of his own voice.
Puff, puff.
Arianna edged back, preferring the tang of salt to the cloying sweetness of the smoke.
“Oh, very well.” The tip of cheroot glowed orange-gold as he drew a breath. “As you know, I've been given credentials as a diplomat from one of the German principalities—I really must check again on exactly which one—and my main assignment for Grentham is to sniff around for information among the Austrian and Prussian representatives once we reach Elba. He wants to know if either country is secretly encouraging Napoleon to retake the French throne.”
Puff, puff. “But he also ordered me to examine the government dispatch bag that Holden is carrying to Elba and see if there is any correspondence from a certain person in the Foreign Office. Such correspondence might have a bearing on the other assignment I’ve been tasked to do.”
“To read it would require cracking the seal,” she pointed out.
“With the right skills,” replied Wolff, “that’s not an impediment.”
She thought for a moment about the implications. “Does that mean Grentham suspects something havey-cavey is going on within the Foreign Office?”
“I’m just the dogsbody,” quipped Wolff.
Aren’t we all in this affair?
“His Lordship does not confide his innermost thoughts to the likes of moi.”
He might merely be blowing smoke in her eyes about the dispatch bag, but past experience told her Wolff rarely made up a total fabrication. He found it far easier merely to change the details.
Having gained that potentially useful nugget of information, she quickly moved on. “Very well, we'll leave it at that. But clearly, you know some intimate information on Lady Plessy-Moritz.” A pause. “Who is Johannes?”
“It would be ungentlemanly to say,” replied Wolff primly. “And besides, it’s not relevant to our primary reasons for being here.”
Anything that could be used for manipulation or coercion was relevant, and they both knew it.
“Gentlemanly?” She made a rude sound. “How nice to hear a code of honor is among all the other false papers you have tucked in your pocket.”
“Tut-tut, Anna. That’s unworthy of you. Bluntness I expect, but not nastiness.”
“And you, Wolffy,” she countered. “I expect deviousness, but not to be stabbed in the back.” It seemed a good parting shot, so Arianna pushed away from the rail and started to make her way around the tail end of the gun truck.
He expelled a sigh. “If you’re looking for relevant facts, I happened to spot a knife in Holden’s desk drawer when I was in his cabin having a look at the government dispatch bag.”
“That’s hardly suspicious. Aboard a ship, knives are in constant use.”
“This one had rope fibers clinging to the serrated blade.”
Arianna halted and looked back over her shoulder.
“I’m not the enemy, Anna.”
“That still leaves a great many other possibilities to consider.”
He flicked the butt of his cheroot overboard. “Alas, life rarely offers simple answers.”
* * *
“I’m tired of playing blind man’s bluff with unknown enemies,” said Arianna the following morning as she returned to their cabin and shut the door. She had awoken early and had taken a quick stroll around the deck to savor the pink-tinged pearlescence of dawn floating up from beneath the horizon.
And to think. There was something about the change from darkness to light when one was surrounded by ocean that brought with it a certain mental clarity.
Saybrook finished knotting the Belcher neckerchief at his throat and sat down on his bunk to slip on his shoes. “Go on.”
“From the gunshot in the park to Grentham's cryptic instructions, and now these mishaps aboard the ship . . .” She blew out a breath through clenched teeth. “It feels as if we are sitting passively in the dark, allowing our enemy to taunt and tease us with maddening ease.”
They had discussed what Arianna had heard the previous evening without coming to any firm conclusions about their significance. She sensed Saybrook was keeping his thoughts about Wolff—whatever they might be—carefully guarded. Surely he didn’t she had . . .
“And you’re suggesting?” said Saybrook.
“That we seize the initiative.”
He greeted the suggestion with a faint smile. “To do so means we actually have to know who the enemy is.”
“But we know that so far, all their efforts have been to keep us from reaching Elba. So I think your plan of secretly arranging our own transportation is a good one.”
“A simple solution,” he agreed.
“Simple,” repeated Arianna with a brittle laugh. “Nothing is simple when it comes to the lust for power. It seems to be a primitive, primal force that brings out the very worst in people.”
“Which is why we need to step very carefully.”
An oblique reminder, no doubt, that she tended to charge ahead where angels should fear to tread.
“I agree,” answered Arianna. “Which is why I think you’re right to suggest we break away from the group and trust our own instincts.” She paused. “Holden’s prejudice about women and trouble aside, it seems more than mere coincidence that the ship has suffered serious mishaps while we are on board.”
“You think Holden deliberately disabled his own ship in pirate-infested waters?”
“I think it a plausible scenario,” replied Arianna, ignoring the skepticism in his voice. “We know he’s from a humble background, and despite his stellar seamanship, he’s not received promotion to a fighting frigate where he might make his fortune in prize money. It would be only natural if he felt resentment—and that would make him vulnerable to bribery.”
“Possibly,” conceded Saybrook.
Overhead, they heard the thud of feet and the rusty rattle of chains reverberated through the bowels of the ship.
“Merriweather is the officer on watch,” continued Arianna, “and he just told me we’ve received permission to proceed to the main wharf.” The previous evening, Basilisk had been ordered to anchor at the outer edge of the bay for the night. “As soon as we’re on dry land, I think we should move quickly to take our fate in
to our own hands.”
Chapter 12
The haze of dawn had given way to a cloudless day. Sunlight capered across the tranquil water of the harbor as Basilisk, ghosting along under its topgallant sails, threaded a course between the anchored warships.
Arianna and Saybrook were standing with Wolff by the larboard rail, watching the hustle and bustle on the Royal Navy docks as they drew nearer.
At the sound of Jelena’s approach, Wolff turned. “Is your headache better?”
“I have found sleep difficult on this vessel,” said the baroness with a small shiver. Her face was pale, accentuating the shadows beneath her eyes. “It feels as if an ill wind has been filling its sails since we left London.”
“Oh, come,” said Wolff. “Surely you don’t share the captain’s belief that women are bad luck on a ship. Like hobgoblins and black cats, it’s naught but silly superstition.”
“Someone has clearly cursed this voyage.” She shot him a spiteful look. “What a pity the culprit has not yet been caught.”
Wolff shrugged and returned his attention to the busy harbor.
Basilisk had made its final turn and was gliding in under bare masts to its designated wharf. A flurry of activity greeted their arrival—officers barking orders, sailors wrestling with canvas fenders and mooring hawsers, stevedores hauling wheeled carts stacked with supplies. The ship shuddered to a stop as the bow and stern lines were made fast to the giant iron cleats. On seeing the captain descend from the quarterdeck, the bosun shouted for the gangplank to be readied. One of the navy pursers was already waiting impatiently, a sheaf of papers in hand, looking none too happy at having his repair assignments thrown off schedule.
Holden barked a few orders at the midshipman by the navigation station, then came over to Arianna and the others. “The port supervisor has arranged accommodations for you at the Hercules Inn while we are undergoing repairs. Mr. Diggs will escort you there.”
“Is that really necessary?” asked Wolff. “Reeving new rudder cables should be an easy task with the dockyards at our command. Surely we’ll be underway by tomorrow.”
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