Miss Minnie and the Brass Pluggit

by Sahara Kelly

“A lot of these roads lead to Yarmouth.” Minnie leaned back. “That’s where we’ll find out if the women are here yet.”

  “And that’s where I can talk to some of the local workers,” Pierce agreed. “I know a couple of the foremen—they did some fine work for me not too long ago.”

  In the end, when the tea had gone cold and the plates were empty, they’d come up with a plan.

  Of sorts.

  Minnie and Pierce would go into Yarmouth and subtly ask around for information about any visitors who might be female and of a certain type. That would be Minnie’s job. While she was doing that, Pierce would amble down to the pub and see if any of his acquaintances were tipping a pint on a Saturday. Since it was market day, it was reasonable to expect a few men settled in the snug, waiting for their wives to finish their shopping.

  Dusk and Felicia would remain at the Brass Pluggit and attempt to glean information from the telegraph. Felicia had an assortment of contacts she hadn’t yet explored, some of which might give her a better insight into Godolphin and its business dealings. Minnie left her a list of contacts in the shipping end of things, any of whom could access the latest shipping manifests and schedules. That way, they could get a better sense of when the Ahira might be sailing.

  Whatever they did, their goal was to prevent any more women from being either kidnapped into slavery, or worse, ending up cold and quite dead.

  That thought brought a chill to Pierce’s spine as he handed Minnie into the whimsy. She shivered a little as well, perhaps sharing his apprehension, or maybe just responding to the weather that, in the wonderfully unpredictable fashion of British climatology, had turned very cool and cloudy.

  “If it rains, we’ll raise the hood, but are you all right for now?” Pierce sat next to her, close since the vehicle was only designed for two.

  She moved into his warmth. “Yes, I’m fine. Glad of my jacket though. I think we were spoiled by the sunshine over the last few days.”

  He fell silent as the carriage hummed and puffed, slowly picking up speed and finally hitting its stride over the more solid roadway to Yarmouth.

  “I think I should head for my boat.” Minnie touched his sleeve. “It would be the most natural thing to do. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves if we can avoid it. And what’s more logical than I should check on my carriage?”

  He thought about it. “All right. It does make sense. And while you’re doing that I can stop by the pub. Easier to get men to talk if I’m alone.”

  “Then it’s agreed.” Minnie nodded as the chimneys of Yarmouth came into sight. The whimsy took them along a small side road and to a small shed where it tucked itself neatly out of sight. A few steps took them onto the main road, which led to the quay and the town center.

  There was quite a bit of traffic since it was market day, and Pierce took Minnie’s arm, pulling her back against the wall of a shop and well away from a passing wagon. “I’ll meet you here in—say an hour or so?”

  She nodded. “Yes, that’ll be fine. That way is to the quay, right?” She pointed down one of the roads.

  He nodded back. “I’m heading straight on—that takes me into the center of Yarmouth.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “Be careful. I’ll see you in an hour.”

  “You too.” She straightened her hat and smiled, giving him a quick wave as he strode away.

  He would much rather have walked with her, strolled around Yarmouth and simply enjoyed themselves as any ordinary couple might have done on market day. But at this particular time, they were anything but an ordinary couple. And truthfully, he doubted whether anyone would ever call Minnie normal.

  To his mind, she was extraordinary. But then again, he was a man falling seriously in love. So his opinions were biased in the extreme. He chuckled to himself and walked on, soon arriving at the center of Yarmouth. Avoiding the farm stands and bustling marketplace, he steered a course through the throng to the large sign swinging in the cool wind. The unimaginatively named pub, the Yarmouth Arms, was open for business.

  Pierce pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  Minnie walked away from Pierce, heading for the quay. She had plenty of company, since it appeared a ferry had just arrived with its complement of holidaymakers. While Yarmouth was relatively untouched by the bustle and crowds that regularly flowed through Cowes, it was still a pleasant destination for those looking to get away for a few days and enjoy some sea air.

  The ocean didn’t feature the large number of yachts or the races held each year off Cowes itself, and there weren’t as many hotels, inns or small guesthouses. But still Yarmouth managed to snag itself a piece of the tourist trade, albeit a smaller one than its big sister.

  It was a pleasant walk, in spite of the cool wind and grey skies, and soon she reached her carriage, which was still firmly affixed to the boat and moored quietly on the far end of one of the docks. The boat’s captain would be checking on it regularly, but not staying aboard. He really didn’t need to, since everything was secured and there was little worth stealing should a thief think about it.

  Luckily, once again Yarmouth’s politely genteel personality worked to her benefit. Crime was very low. Or at least it had been until a body washed up near the Brass Pluggit.

  She carefully stepped aboard the boat and unlocked her carriage, entering and closing the door behind her to keep out the wind. She didn’t require much, but—for appearances’ sake—took a small valise and tucked in a couple more silk nightgowns. She grinned as she also added a pair of her own pantaloons.

  Pierce would like those, she knew.

  Since she’d been working from the Pluggit, there were no telegraphs awaiting her. Should she return to London, she’d activate this unit, but for now it was quiet, tucked away in its box. Minnie closed it and realized she had absolutely no urge to rush back to the metropolis.

  She’d always thought of herself as someone at home in town, but now? She was very happy roaming the cliffs and coastline of the Isle of Wight. She didn’t miss the crowds, the parties or the theater. She didn’t miss the newspapers or the constantly changing political intrigue.

  She honestly didn’t mind taking a few days away from Dalrymple Shipping, although she knew she’d have some catching up to do…that was something she could never turn away from, since it was more than a company. It was the livelihood for over a thousand people, all of whom were her responsibility.

  Locking up her carriage, Minnie accepted that the circumstances of her life were changing, just as the ocean changed. Nothing, it seemed, was ever truly constant. She’d found something new here on this quiet island, in an improbably named lighthouse.

  She’d found a love she’d never imagined could exist. However, what she was going to do about it remained rather up in the air.

  She checked the timepiece pinned inside her jacket and found it had only been twenty minutes since she left Pierce. More than enough time to stroll around the quay and perhaps pick up some information on her own.

  With that thought in mind, she tucked her modest bag beneath her arm and set off to retrace her steps back up to the center of the quay. Several sheltered benches had been installed there for the benefit of those who needed to sit down in order to appreciate the intricacies of maritime traffic patterns.

  Although, Minnie admitted, it was interesting to watch the comings and goings of so many different boats.

  And one elderly fellow seemed to be doing just that. Grizzled, leathery skin, a full white beard and the obligatory thick navy blue jacket and cap marked him as a seaman, and he nodded at her as she slowed her pace.

  “Mornin’, missy.” He tapped a finger against his cap politely. “’Tis brisk for a walk.”

  “Indeed it is.” She looked at the bench. “May I sit with you for a few moments? It’s out of the wind here.” A large potted topiary stood at one end, providing quite a bit of relief from the sharp breeze.

  “Of course, lass.” He straightened. “Always nice to chat a bit
. Rest yer feet.”

  She did just that, sitting comfortably next to the ancient seaman and following his gaze out over the grey and choppy waters. “Not the best weather for sailing. Do you think it will rain?”

  Ah yes, she thought. The perfect British conversational gambit. The bloody weather.

  “Might.” He paused. “Might not.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Probably blow up into a good storm tonight though. Clouds have the look of it.”

  Minnie looked upward. Damned if she could see anything in the grey mass that might indicate an oncoming storm, but she wasn’t about to argue. “Are any of these boats yours?”

  He chortled, then coughed deeply, a rattle that spoke of years of pipe smoking. “Nay, lass. I’m done wi’ the sea. She’s taken ma best years and given me bones that ache more’n they should. The wife makes me stay home now. Then sends me out here.” He laughed. “That’s justice for yer.”

  Minnie joined in his laugh. “Well, you probably see more of life sitting here than the rest of us do.”

  “I see ma share.” He nodded.

  “I’m sure you do. And I’m sure you’ve seen things change over the years.”

  “Aye, I have that.”

  “Yarmouth is growing fast. Lots of people talk about coming here for their holidays now.”

  “Well, mebbe the li’l Queen, God bless her, helped that along wi’ her fine house over Osborne way.”

  “Indeed. I’m sure she did.” Minnie paused, carefully choosing her words. “Of course, one doesn’t always get the kind of visitors one would prefer. With the holidaymakers come the moneymakers.” She sighed, trying not to be too dramatic about it and wondering if he’d take the bait.

  “’Tis the way of it.” He looked away from her. “Like them.”

  She followed his gaze—and stilled. Three young women were standing together, looking out over the water, one holding a faded hat on her head as the wind whipped around them. All three were wearing matching jackets, dark brown, nothing remarkable at all. Perhaps they were from the same school.

  And then the one holding her hat turned her back to the wind and Minnie could clearly see a small decoration on the front of that jacket.

  It was the letter “G”, and it was one she’d seen before. On the crate in the cave beneath the Godolphin aerodrome.

  She cleared her throat. “Those young women?”

  “Aye.” The sailor agreed. “No school hereabouts with that uniform. Must’ve come in from the mainland. Didn’t come by boat though.”

  He sounded quite positive and Minnie guessed that he’d make a mental note of anyone arriving from Southampton. He had a sharp eye and a pretty empty schedule. What else was there to do?

  “Perhaps they’re here on holiday?”

  “Alone?” He snorted. “Don’t believe it, lass. There’s been others with that outfit. Girls. Pretty girls. Don’t take a brilliant mind to put two an’ two together.”

  “You mean…” she encouraged him gently.

  “Aye. No better’n they should be, you ask me. Mind you, if a man wants to pay for it, then ’tis his business. But I can’t say I like such business ’round these parts. Better to go to Cowes for that kind of thing.” He glanced at her. “Beggin’ yer pardon for ma blunt speech.”

  “No apology necessary. I understand.” She was still watching the women. Girls, really. Not one looked more than eighteen. “You say you’ve seen that uniform before?”

  “Aye.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Seen it several times, off and on. Always girls. Pretty ones at that. I saw one lot of ’em get picked up by a boat.” He frowned. “Didn’t like the look of it. Untidy ropes, deck was filthy. Darkies.” He curled his lip.

  “Darkies?” Minnie raised an eyebrow.

  “Aye. Dark skinned, like they’d been in the sun too long. Easterners, I reckon. Those odd hats. Looked like they’d all bandaged their heads or summat.”

  “And they picked up those girls?”

  “Aye.” He crossed his legs at the ankles and stared at her from beneath bushy brows. “You seem mighty interested, lass. No good comes from messin’ wi’ someone else’s business.”

  She returned his look. “I know that, sir. Believe me I know. However, I also believe that there might be trouble awaiting these young ladies.”

  “Trouble?” His bushy brows lowered a little and he sat silently for a moment or two. “Would yer be meanin’ trouble like that wee dead lass over to Edward’s?”

  Minnie mentally smacked herself. This was a small town. News of a murder would have run through it like wildfire.

  “It’s possible.” She shrugged. “But unlikely, I’m sure. I simply thought I might have recognized one of those girls from somewhere.”

  “A fine lady like yersel’? Doubt that, I do.” He chuckled and coughed again. “Best you go back to yer family, missy. Leave t’other stuff be.”

  She smiled and stood. “Thank you for the conversation and letting me share your bench.” She straightened her skirts. “I think I’ll just make sure that isn’t my friend over there. And then I’ll take your advice and head home.”

  “As yer will.” He touched his cap again. “Watch yer step and good day to yer.”

  Convinced now that she was looking at the latest consignment of prostitutes destined for passage to God-knew-where on the Ahira, Minnie carefully slipped a hand in her pocket. She felt the reassuring presence of the small button—Pierce’s whatchamacallit.

  All she needed to do was get close enough to the girls to slip it into one of their bags. After that, Pierce might be able to follow it and keep an eye on where the girls were. It would alert them if they were being shipped out to the freighter, or if they were being kept in the cave or somewhere else.

  She closed the distance between her and the edge of the quay where the girls were gathered, and pasted a friendly smile on her face. “Hallo there.” She spoke to the tallest girl who turned a nervous gaze her way. “I’ve been admiring your shawl. Goodness it gets cold here near the water. Can you tell me where you got it? It’s just the thing for sharp days like this.”

  “I…er…I ain’t had it long, ma’am. Got it in Southampton.”

  The accent was unmistakably London and the G embroidered on the jacket was an identical match to the one on the crate. Minnie was in the right place. And these were the right women.

  “Oh, that’s a pity. I was hoping to find one myself here in Yarmouth.” She moved closer, standing with them now, looking out over the docks and the pier. “Have you come for a holiday? They say it’s worth walking the length of the pier. Sometimes you can see big fish playing in the waters at the end…”

  She was babbling, she knew. But with any luck she was distracting them enough that they’d not notice her dropping a tiny button into one of their bags.

  But before she could reach into her pocket once more, a voice spoke behind her.

  “I don’t think they’re interested in the big fish. Missy…”

  Minnie gasped at the familiar rasp. But she couldn’t turn, since something very hard was pressed sharply against the base of her spine. “This is a gun. Do anything stupid and it will accidentally discharge. I’ll be distraught, but these ladies will verify it was an unfortunate accident. Nod if you understand me.”

  She nodded. “That was an excellent ruse. You had me believing you were an old salt.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” He chuckled and coughed once more. “I’ve done my time on deck. Now I’m enjoying a much more luxurious retirement.” He pushed her forward roughly. “Unfortunately, it looks as if you’ve stuck your nose into something you shouldn’t have, dearie. You’ll have to come along with us now, of course.”

  Minnie froze, her instincts screaming at her to run, but her brain telling her there was nowhere to run. The ocean was in front of her and the man with the gun behind her. What choice did she have?

  The knowledge that Pierce would turn the Isle of Wight inside out looking for her he
lped calm her riotous thoughts. And knowing she had his whatchamacallit in her pocket was enormously comforting. She’d come through this. Somehow or other, she’d come through it in one piece.

  “It looks like I’m in a bit of a spot, doesn’t it?” She lifted her chin.

  “It does indeed.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Pierce found himself in a dark but warm room, where someone had lit a fire against the sudden cold snap. A long length of mahogany bar stretched from one end to another, and he stepped up to it, resting his foot on the brass rail as so many had done before him.

  “What’ll it be?” The innkeeper strolled up to him.

  “I’ll take a pint. Should keep the cold out.”

  The man smiled as he pulled the beer. “Aye. Weather turns just like that sometimes.” He slid the tankard to Pierce. “That’ll be ninepence.”

  Pierce took out some coins and pushed a shilling across the bar. “I have a few more of these I’d like to send your way if you can send a bit of information mine.”

  The man glanced around at the nearly empty room and then leaned on the wood, idly wiping an invisible spot with a cloth. “Information about what, then, lad?”

  Pierce sipped his beer and licked the foam from his mouth. “I’m wondering about the Godolphin aerodrome project. Got some work at the Brass Pluggit I’d like done, but I’m not sure if anyone’s around to hire or if they’re all working out that way.”

  The innkeeper thought for a moment. “Well, you might try Harry Smithson’s place. Harry was going to work over Godolphin’s, but his wife come down with summat. He had to put those plans on hold as it were.”

  “Took a big bite out of the Yarmouth workforce, did they?”

  The man nodded. “Aye. They did that. Pays good wages, they do. But, here’s an odd thing I heard…” He leaned closer to Pierce. “They don’t let none of the workers down below. Got caves there, y’know. But they’re off limits. Nobody sees what’s in ’em. One lad told me they’ve got other workers down there. Furriners.”

  Pierce managed an expression of shock, since the innkeeper was clearly upset at the notion of foreigners in caves. Probably because they hadn’t been in to buy a large number of pints and swell his coffers, but that was neither here nor there.