Camden returned the missive to the lieutenant. “You were on your way to find me in London? Why?”
Ross straightened, his deep sense of duty evident in his posture, and Camden remembered a time when he had been such a man. But there was also something else in the man’s eyes as well. “I am looking for a woman,” he said. “Are you carrying passengers?”
Camden hesitated. “Do you want to explain to me what this is about?”
“Mrs. Claremont arrived from Spain some days ago. I was hoping she would have come to you. London is not kind to a woman on the streets—”
“Mrs. Claremont?”
“Christel Douglas Claremont,” he said. “Your wife’s cousin. She is my sister-in-law.” The lieutenant turned. “Finding her means a great deal to my wife and her family. Enough for me to risk a career-ending formal reprimand from my superiors should anyone ever learn I stepped out of the realm of my job for personal reasons.”
Camden faced the rail. “I was not aware that Miss Douglas was married.”
“Daniel Claremont was . . . killed two years ago during the siege in Yorktown. She returned to Williamsburg shortly after that, where she managed a small dress shop, but she always kept in touch with my wife’s family. Five months ago, she sold her shop and vanished.
“My brother-in-law, a former British naval commander, is an American frigate captain. He learned that the ship on which Christel left Boston was diverted for nearly three weeks to Lisbon for repairs after a storm damaged her severely. I missed her in Spain by days and was on my way to London when I received the missive that you were there. I was hoping she had gone to you. She spoke of your wife often, my lord.”
Agitation stirred him. And something else. “If I see her, I will tell her you are looking for her, Lieutenant.”
But Lieutenant Ross did not move away. Looking off across the choppy sea, he pressed his lips in a straight line as if he debated his next words. “You do not understand, my lord. Two years ago, during the Yorktown siege, seven British soldiers ransacked my wife’s family home. Daniel was infirmed with a fever. Elizabeth—who was pregnant with my son at the time—as well as her mother, younger brother and sister, and five servants, were also in residence. The soldiers were hunting spies.
“Even sick as he was, Daniel fought the men. He killed four before they hanged him from the banister in his own house. They set the house ablaze. Christel defended the family against the attackers. Then got everyone to safety, hiding them in a root cellar behind the barn and keeping them alive for a week until my brother-in-law found them.”
Camden felt his eyelids narrow. “What happened to the men?”
“Five months ago, the last man responsible for that murder was found dead outside Richmond. He had been killed in the same way as the previous two, a sword thrust through the heart. All were rumored to have been hunted down by a notorious Sons of Liberty leader called Merlin.”
“You seem to doubt Merlin was responsible.”
“Daniel Claremont was Merlin, my lord.”
The implication sent a chill down Camden’s spine. Surely, the lieutenant couldn’t mean to be telling him that Christel was in some way connected . . . and yet . . .
“Let there be no mistake, my lord. Whoever it was who went after those men did the world a service. The three barbarians who got out of the Claremont farmhouse alive were not soldiers but criminals, in my opinion, though some would see it differently.”
“If I should see Mrs. Claremont, is there a message you would have me give her, Lieutenant?”
Lieutenant Ross drew in his breath, and Camden knew the young officer would not search his ship, would not force him to betray Christel’s presence even if he believed her to be on board. “Tell her that my wife and I now live in Bournemouth. Tell her she is not alone and we just want to know she is safe. We may not be blood kin, but she is one of our own. Family takes care of family.”
With his bicorn tucked beneath his arm, Lieutenant Ross started to leave, but he stopped and looked out across the faces of Camden’s crew. He then brought his attention back to the captain of the Anna. “In case you have not already deduced, my lord, someone wanted this ship intercepted. Perhaps even impounded. I would be looking to someone close to you and ask yourself who wants you destroyed.”
Camden smiled mockingly. “I have considered that possibility, Lieutenant.”
“I will bid you good afternoon, then, my lord.”
Camden stood at the rail watching the lieutenant put off in the jolly boat. The sea swells were large, and returning to the cruiser would be rough going. But as Camden’s attention absently wandered to the turbulent skies, he left it to the lieutenant’s crew to watch out for their own men. He finally looked away, filled with a sense of foreboding.
Or perhaps what he felt was anger. Why had Christel kept her marriage from him? Or the tragedy that had befallen her?
Could she have committed acts of execution in the guise of a once infamous highwayman?
“And what is the age one is considered on the shelf? Exactly,” he had asked her earlier on the topic of marriage.
“When she learns how to use a saber as well as a man.”
Slowly, becoming aware that the wind was shifting a point or two from the west to a northerly tack, he contemplated it with strong disfavor and ordered all sails trimmed, including the topmasts, which had been housed during the earlier heavier gale winds. Behind him, the ship’s capstan clicked in a steady familiar rhythm as the boatswain was still shouting to raise anchor.
From his place near the rail, he caught sight of Bentwell talking to another man, who seemed to have just come from the hold and was gesturing with his arms like a broken signal line flapping in the wind. Bentwell’s expression forewarned Camden that something had been found in the hold.
“Below the floor, my lord, between bulkheads,” Bentwell informed him a moment later. Pulling his woolen coat collar around his neck, he opened the door leading into the hold and crews quarters. “A chest of rifles, cartouche boxes and brandy. Bigelow also informed me that the Anna’s supercargo is not aboard.”
A supercargo was a merchant ship officer in charge of freight and the business dealings of the ship. In the navy, a yeoman held such a position.
“We are doing a run of the crew now to see if any others are missing.” Bentwell lowered his voice. “But I will tell you, sir, nothing got on this ship while we have been in London. Whatever is here was put here before leaving Scotland.”
“You are positive.”
“I would wager my life on it, my lord.”
Forcing himself into an attitude of composure, Camden nodded, aware that the only other person who had ever sailed this ship was also the bane of his life. With his left hand, he tapped his thigh impatiently. “Thank you, that will be all. There is nothing to be done for it now.”
He would deal with his brother when he reached Scotland.
“One must never forget we are a civilized people no matter our circumstances,” Mrs. Gables declared the next morning. “There is no substitute for a decent cup of hot English tea.”
The pronouncement pulled Christel from her dire thoughts as she stood in front of the stern gallery window looking at the distant slip of land on the horizon. She didn’t point out that the tea was actually from China. Unfolding her arms, she turned into the cabin.
Mrs. Gables sat at the table near the stove, warming herself, her fingers curled around a hot cup of tea. Along with breakfast, Red Harry had also proudly presented to them the rosebud painted teacups and matching pot on a tray earlier, just after the Anna had officially sailed into the Irish Sea.
“I do not know what could have got into his lordship. ’Tis not seemly for a young lady to be exposed to questionable elements aboard this ship.”
“Perhaps he does not wish to tax you further with Lady Anna’s care,” Christel said.
But Christel had not voiced her real concern, that it was she Lord Carrick did not want around his daughte
r.
She had not wanted to consider that possibility, but the attempt to steer her thoughts from the idea failed. Yesterday, she had been concerned, nay scared witless, when the naval cruiser had signaled the Anna to stop and be boarded. But the ship had gone away.
That morning Red Harry had told her the Anna was still on course. Then he had told her Lady Anna’s father wanted the child dressed warmly and that Lord Carrick would be taking her topside today.
The only thing that wasn’t in order was her perception of the truce she thought she and Lord Carrick had struck. Had she expected too much to think that he would have said a few words to her this morning at least? That he might have explained why the Anna had been stopped? Or was she looking for shadows where they did not exist?
She finished straightening the cabin, carefully folding the blankets. “Would you care for more tea, Mrs. Gables?”
“You are a dear, Miss Douglas.” Setting down the cup, Mrs. Gables pulled the blanket over her shoulders and watched Christel pour the tea. “Will you join me? One should never suffer cold tasteless porridge alone, if at all. I cannot stomach it myself.”
Christel adjusted a blanket over the older woman’s lap and put more coal into the stove. “You really should eat. At the very least if you intend to get sick again you will find yourself better served to have something cold and tasteless to be sick with.”
Mrs. Gables reluctantly accepted the spoon Christel offered from the tray. “Pragmatic, are we?”
Christel set the orange marmalade beside the bowl, especially since she had gone to a great deal of trouble to find it. “I try to be,” she said. “I ate earlier. Even coming from a family of seafarers, I am not immune to the effects of the sea. I know what tends to work.”
“No one will ever accuse me of being a dainty eater.”
But after a bite, Mrs. Gables’s attention slipped to the window. She set down the spoon. “His lordship usually does not take Lady Anna on deck,” she said. “ ’Tis not my place to question him, but her mother was such a delicate sort. What if Lady Anna should come down with a fever?”
“I am sure Lord Carrick has her safely tucked in the pilot house,” Christel replied as she put away the sweater in the cupboard.
“Of course he would,” Mrs. Gables agreed. Christel turned her head and found that Mrs. Gables was watching her. “You give my heart a jolt every time I look at you,” she said. “You resemble her, but only a fool could ever mistake you.”
Mrs. Gables’s gown of black bombazine trimmed in white lace did little to distract from her stern visage, but on the rare occasion she actually smiled, her features softened to a motherly countenance. “Oh, my,” she said. “There I go doing the same thing I detested others doing to me. I once had a younger sister that people always mistook for my twin. On closer inspection, most found her to be the one more beautiful. An annoying custom to have one’s physical attributes compared to another and then to be the one found lacking.”
“What happened between you and your sister?”
Mrs. Gables laughed. “I met my husband. He could tell us apart. To my sister’s ever-loving chagrin, he fell in love with me. Of course, I had pursued him relentlessly. I knew his character. We were very much alike, you see. He would never have been happy with my sister. We were wed for twenty years.” She smoothed her hands over her lap. “He died of the cholera while we were posted in India.”
Christel lowered her gaze. “My condolences.”
“That was ten years ago,” Mrs. Gables said.
“Have you been in his lordship’s employ long?”
“Eight years,” Mrs. Gables said. “Lord Carrick’s ship had been the one tasked with bringing back many of the wives and children from my husband’s company after the cholera outbreak. One hot and humid night I found his lordship on deck pacing while we awaited the wind to freshen the sails. I guessed that he must have a young one on the way, as he was clearly most anxious to return to England. I had never seen a more restless papa-to-be than that one. He had seen me caring for the younger children on board the ship, some of whom were quite ill. He knew I had been hired as a nursemaid to the earl of Eastland’s brood. He made an offer to me, I could not help but to accept, and he brought me up from London. We arrived some weeks after Lady Anna had been born.”
Her expression fell subtly, and she turned her attention to the teacup. “I am not a servant, so I am not privy to the gossip below stairs. But her ladyship was also most beloved to me. She was the truest of ladies . . . kind to everyone. I think I am correct in believing you are much like her, despite your desire to prove differently.”
“Nay.” Christel shook her head. “I am not like her. Much to Grams’s disappointment.” Christel started to smile, but the memory of Lord Carrick’s conversation with her the other night sobered her. “I did not see my cousin in the nine years I was away. I wish I had returned sooner. She was like a sister more so than mine ever could be.”
She had not meant to say the words, but there they were, out for a stranger to dissect. But as Mrs. Gables continued sipping her tea, her boot button eyes revealing no more than a gentle patience to listen, this woman, whom Christel had judged disparagingly for complaining about her dog, suddenly seemed understanding and selfless.
Indeed, with whom could she talk? She had no close friends to share her thoughts with. She belonged to no place and to no one anymore. Mrs. Gable’s simple kindness enveloped her.
“Will you be staying in Scotland long?” Mrs. Gables asked.
“My home is there. Seastone Cottage is the most beautiful place in the summer,” Christel said.
“Then Rosecliffe is not your home?”
“Rosecliffe is my grandmother’s home. You have probably met Lady Harriet on occasion. I fear she and I did not leave on the best of terms.”
“I would not presume to know Lady Harriet, but having another granddaughter home can only ease an old lady’s heart. She has rarely set foot in Blackthorn Castle or seen Lady Anna in a year.”
“Surely Lord Carrick would not keep her away.”
Mrs. Gables shifted in the chair. “The fault does not lie with his lordship, no matter what you may hear, Miss Douglas.”
Her answer, as cryptic as it was vague, was unmistakably colored by her loyalty toward Lord Carrick.
Loyalty that appeared to go beyond monetary dependence on him.
Christel was as bewildered by the woman’s devotion and affection toward Lord Carrick as she had been by Red Harry’s. She did not understand what could possibly inspire it, but she had seen it before when she had worked in the field hospital outside Yorktown and her uncle had brought in survivors from his ship. There had not been one single soul who had not inquired to the welfare of their captain.
The older woman leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. “I should be awake when his lordship returns with Lady Anna, but I fear I am suddenly quite sleepy.”
Christel rose and prepared the bunk for Mrs. Gables to rest. “I will look to Lady Anna. You need not worry.”
Christel had no opportunity of speaking to Lord Carrick as it was Red Harry who brought Anna back to the cabin.
“The wind’s picked up,” he said. “Himself says to stay below.”
“Mister . . . er . . . Red Harry,” she called after him, pulling the cabin door shut behind her as she stepped into the companionway for a private word. “I know ’tis none of my concern, but I imagine it never bodes well when a revenue cruiser stops any vessel.”
“Normally I would say you’d be right. But the cap’n of the Glory Rose knew his lordship—”
“The Glory Rose?”
“Ye are familiar with the ship, lass?”
“I am a colonial. I am familiar with revenue ships,” said Christel. “But surely since Lord Carrick is a former Royal Naval captain—”
“A bloke’s naval pedigree only means he can sail a ship, lass.”
He seemed preoccupied with the ship’s chores and was soon o
n his way.
The Glory Rose!
She knew the captain of that ship. One of her closest friends had married him three years ago. Her friend was a patriot and he a staunch Tory, and they had somehow found peace in a world that had seemed to have briefly lost itself. Peace that had forever eluded her.
All afternoon she paced her cabin, thinking about him. Yet as much as she wanted to avoid him, she had been bothered by the thought that it was the Glory Rose that had intercepted the Anna.
Later, Christel had been arranging the sewing box when she heard Lord Carrick’s voice topside. She’d procrastinated long enough and now didn’t have much time left before sunset swallowed the sea.
Restlessly, she returned to Lord Carrick’s quarters for a cloak. Finding one in the armoire, she threw it around her shoulders. It was made of heavy wool and brushed the floor, but she welcomed the warmth even as she caught the faint scent of French perfume on the dark wool. She pressed her nose into the cloth. This cloak was the one he had been wearing when he had arrived on board. Not that it should matter to her with whom or where he spent his time. She hated that it did matter.
Pulling up the hood, she made her way out of the cabin, crisscrossing her way with the ship’s movements in the corridor. She shoved her shoulder against the stout wooden door that opened onto the deck and stumbled over the coaming. The ship rose and dropped into a trough of sea, sending a rainbow of salt spray over the deck. The wind filled the sails and tore at her skirts and heavy cloak.
Clutching her hood with one hand, she stole a glance at the weathervane. Long spears of ice clung to the rigging and glittered amber in the sunset. With all sails braced, the Anna lay over steeply, plunging through the sea, sending spray aft in the sheets and making the weather rigging sing. The ship was running close-hauled before the wind, and the sight could not have been more beautiful.
“Our captain is very good at what he does.” Mr. Bentwell stood near the capstan, holding a brass telescope. “That is why we are flying like a pretty bird over the waves.”
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