She turned to him, her eyes droopy and tired. “If the Palace Hotel isn’t suitable, I’ll find somewhere else.”
Beau felt her exhaustion. He craved the comfort of a large, four-poster bed and the oblivion of deep sleep. “I’ll accompany you to the hotel if you like…no telling what we’ll find.”
“Don’t worry about me.” She turned back to the bunk and resumed her packing.
The note of strain in her voice tightened something in his chest. He stepped behind her and breathed in her flowery scent.
She straightened, clearly aware of his nearness. “Thank you for holding to our bargain and for all you’ve done to get me and my cargo here safely.”
“You’re welcome.”
“The agent sent me a note,” she said. “A party will be held tonight for you and the crew in celebration of successfully running the blockade. Will you be there?” C.C. still did not turn toward him.
Surely this wasn’t how she intended to say good-bye, was it? He coiled an arm around her waist and placed a light kiss on her neck.
She shivered. “Please don’t,” she snapped and moved out of his embrace.
He took a step back, dismayed by the awkwardness of the moment and his loss for words. “Well I… Yes, I’ll be at the party. I never miss celebrations in my honor.”
***
Beau jammed his hat on his head, went above and marched to the main deck’s bow. There he shoved his hands into his pockets and gazed about the wharf.
Low-lying clouds oozed a chilly drizzle over the waterfront and buildings, coating them in gloomy gray. The odor of fish roasting at the vendor’s booth mixed with more pungent odors rising from the river and whatever was rotting in the barrels on the dock.
Stevedores trudged on and off the ship. Winches and pulleys screeched. Heavy wagons rumbled over the groaning wharf planks, their mule teams heehawing in the rain.
George stepped to his side and grumbled, “Is it me or does this place look worse every run?”
“Aye. The whole town could use a coat of paint,” Beau muttered.
“Paint and roofs and just about everything else,” George grumbled. “People used to take pride in their homes and businesses.” He swept a hand toward the city. “This used to be a safe, pretty place. Mr. Lincoln’s War has made it a hard town. Riffraff took over. It’s dangerous for a man to walk down the street in broad daylight—even in a good neighborhood. Thieves and charlatans are everywhere. Bodies turn up all the time. Which brings me to the question of Miss Collins. What does she intend to do?”
“She mentioned something about a room at the Palace Hotel.”
“Palace Hotel? It used to be good,” George said. “But I don’t know if any hotel in town would be safe for the likes of Miss Collins. Will those soldiers we took aboard be guarding her?”
“They’re staying with the cargo.”
“Will you be guarding her?”
Beau shook his head.
“A woman of quality like Miss Collins shouldn’t be left unattended! This town is dangerous—nothing but soldiers, seamen, criminals and prostitutes. Turning her loose alone in this place would be like throwing a diamond necklace into a packed wharf bar.”
Beau curled a lip. “Miss Collins has very effective ways of discouraging a man.”
“Maybe she can handle one man, but hereabouts they roam in packs.”
“I’ve witnessed convincing proof of her capabilities.” Beau fumbled with the pen in his pocket. “She’s made it abundantly clear that once we reached Wilmington my responsibilities for her are at an end.”
“What is the matter with you? This town is no place for a helpless, beautiful woman.”
“Helpless!” Beau snapped. “She’s about as helpless as a fox in wool barege.”
George shook his head, snickering. “So you’re going to follow her directions like a whipped hound? Never thought I’d see the day when a woman got you hog-tied.”
“Not hog-tied,” Beau growled. Too many things churned in his poor tired mind. He didn’t like it, but somewhere along the way he’d developed feelings for her. Her—the special messenger. How did she even know the term? Her—with the twenty-five crates of ‘Hardware’ on the ship since Liverpool. Her—with the letters addressed to top Confederate authorities that miraculously overrode the unmovable medical officer’s quarantine.
At least the day’s revelations made it a safe bet she wasn’t a Union spy. He was exhausted and the coldness she’d turned on him a few minutes before still smarted.
“It would be safer for Miss Collins to rest at the home of one of the town’s ladies of quality. Do you know anyone who might oblige?” George asked.
Beau sighed. He should be pleased he no longer had to deal with the contrary woman. If she insisted on hiding her true motives, then so be it. She was no longer his responsibility.
Forgetting C.C.’s kisses would be another matter. Their kiss under Fort Fisher’s guns had reached right in and grabbed something vital. This last run on the blockade finally subdued his demons and restored a part of himself he’d thought gone forever. She made that possible. He could call himself a man again. For a few hours he thought she might be the rare woman he could give his heart to. The memory made her recent dismissal smart all the more.
He gazed around the busy wharf. Now, more than ever before, his skin prickled with the strafing of hidden eyes. In a stand at the end of the dock, a fishmonger held up a huge mackerel to show a customer. Beau turned to George. “How about having Miss Collins stay with Miss Priddy?”
George made a face and shuddered. Then slowly, his expression eased to a lopsided grin. “That might actually work. Miss Priddy can be scarier than a grouchy ol’ guard dog. Do you think she’ll oblige?”
Beau returned the smile. “She’s not as bad as all that. Hopefully C.C.’s hotel will prove sufficient and such drastic measures won’t be required.”
Chapter 16
By the time Beau finished his paperwork, the railroad had sent word. They’d secured a spot for C.C.’s cargo on a train arriving in the morning to leave for Goldsboro at noon.
He’d never seen anyone get such quick response from the beleaguered railroad. With Wilmington being the only Southern port still open, their difficulties ran deep. Since the war and blockade, replacement parts had become almost nonexistent. From not owning enough cars, to having to cannibalize other engines and tracks, the railroad struggled under overwhelming demands. He cynically wondered if it was the urgency of her cargo or if she’d applied a great big bribe for encouragement.
The rain had stopped when Beau climbed to the main deck to confer with his supercargo. C.C. stood with her valise not far from the gangplank. She still wore her white gown, white shawl and held a matching tasseled umbrella. To this ensemble she’d added a frilly red bonnet. A busy breeze stirred her skirts and tossed her bonnet ribbons into the air. Against the bleak background of decrepit buildings, the woman made quite a vision, so fragile and alone, almost ethereal.
George had the right of it. No man, who could call himself one, would fail to notice Miss Calista Collins. Wilmington had become a hard, dangerous port town. Here lawlessness ruled. Any woman left unattended, sharp-tongued or no, became fair game.
Initially he’d envisioned a surge of relief once they reached Wilmington. C.C. would go her way. He would go his. The cargo would be unloaded. He’d take the Redemption back to Nassau with as much cotton as it could carry, collect his profits, his six thousand in gold and get on with his life.
Yet over the course of their journey he’d grown to admire and care for her, more than a little. He’d gotten used to having her near, worrying about her. As with everything else, even parting wouldn’t be easy with C.C. There could be no simple farewell. More than likely he’d never see her again. Something clutched in his chest at the thought. Any kind of good-bye today bore the finality of death.
Approaching her, he removed his slouch hat. “Miss Collins, please permit me to accompany you to
your hotel. If it is unsuitable or not to your liking, I will help you find something else.”
“Really, Captain, you needn’t concern yourself. The hack should be here soon.”
“I’d feel better knowing you were comfortable and in good hands.” Somewhere along the way taking responsibility for her safety had become habit. Soon, very soon, he’d need to cut those apron strings. But for the time being, he was too exhausted to think about it.
She finally gave a tired exhale. “Very well, thank you, Captain.”
The hack arrived and whisked them over to the Palace Hotel on Front Street. Rain began to fall again. Beau took the precaution of having the driver wait for them until they’d secured a room. Then he helped C.C. out of the hack.
Angry shouts suddenly erupted between a group of seaman and soldiers on the sidewalk.
Someone screamed, “Knife! He’s pulled a knife!” A gun went off. One of the men gave a sharp cry. Two home guards came running down the street, their rifles raised.
“Quick, let’s get into the hotel.” Beau practically dragged C.C. around the crowd that had formed, through the front door and into the hotel’s lobby. Some of the patrons hung about the windows, hoping for a glimpse of the melee. A few oily rascals lounged about the lobby’s chairs reading newspapers.
Suddenly, every last pair of male eyes in the room pivoted to fasten onto C.C.
Beau’s temper flared. Clearly, here the rules of decorous drawing rooms and polite society lay firmly under the boot of miscreants.
The men openly stared like she was the last gazelle on a parched plain. And these mangy mongrels appeared highly partial to gazelle. He’d seen men gape at her in England and Nassau. His crew knew better, though he’d caught a few sly appraisals when they thought he wasn’t looking.
C.C. grasped his arm a little tighter. He had to admire her poise and ability to ignore their slavering looks. But her gaze held fatigue and something resembling concern.
“Do you like the place so far?” he asked.
She darted a few glances about the room. “It smells like bad cigars, but it’ll do.”
He thought he heard a note of apprehension in her voice. Half joking, he whispered in her ear, “Would you like me to announce to the man at the desk that you are my missus?”
“No,” she responded.
“How about my sister?”
“I think not.”
“You should make some use of me. By the looks of these ruffians I’m afraid one or two might start howling and whining about your skirts.”
One side of her lips quirked. “Why don’t you tell the man at the desk you are my associate?”
A nerve twitched in his neck. Associate? “That might be just confusing enough to get these scoundrels scratching and sniffing where they don’t belong.”
On reaching the registration counter, Beau removed his hat. “Could we have two of your best rooms, please. The lady is very tired and would like something quiet.”
While the desk clerk consulted his ledger, the front door opened. The noisy sounds of the commotion in the street momentarily spilled into the lobby.
C.C. gazed over her shoulder and gasped. Turning to the counter clerk, she spoke with quiet urgency. “I’m very sorry, sir, I’ve decided I don’t wish to stay here after all.” Could you please show us to the back exit?”
Beau looked to the front door. A lanky brute in a worn dark suit approached the hotel’s newspaper stand and pulled his rain-soaked slouch hat lower. It was the pock-faced villain who’d threatened C.C. at the Old Vic in Nassau. What was he doing here?
The clerk obliged and showed them a side door that exited onto an alley. They nearly ran back to their hack and jumped in.
***
Once they were settled, and the carriage on its way, Captain Tollier cleared his throat. “How do you know Captain Shamus Hargreaves?” He spoke the words with the clipped nuance and authority of a Royal Navy officer.
The question couldn’t have surprised C.C. more had he snapped her with a whip. How did he know that devil? She’d tried to prepare for the unexpected, but she’d never dreamed Hargreaves would rise from the dead, and follow her all the way to Wilmington. Her shoulders tensed in agitation. “It’s really none of your concern.”
“Oh, I think it is, if only for curiosity’s sake. I spent several years chasing that villain across the South China Sea.”
C.C. bit her lip and considered how much she should say. “I only met him once when I was nineteen, about the time of…my scandal in New York. He sought me out in Nassau and claimed I owed him money because of business he had with my father. My father is dead. I refused to be extorted. End of story.”
“And he made threats?”
“Of course. To me and everyone I care about, but I will not play his game.”
The captain’s expression turned grim. “Hargreaves was one of the most devious, cunning villains ever pursued by the Royal Navy.”
“I’m not surprised he’s here. Fast money draws fast crooks.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but the comment about Hargreaves’s cunning tied her stomach in knots. “That scoundrel’s agenda is none of my concern. Let’s look for another hotel.”
Captain Tollier’s brows pulled into one long furrow. They stayed in that position all the way to the Rain Tree Hotel. As C.C. and the captain entered the hotel’s lobby, two drunken louts lurched toward them.
“Well lookee here,” one said, ogling her. “How much do you want for an hour of your tart’s time, mister?”
The captain balled a fist and drew back. C.C. grabbed his arm and held tight, his muscles flexing under her hand. The glare he gave the men held such venom they nearly took off at a run. Without a word he dragged her back out the door and into their waiting hack. “Time for drastic measures,” he growled.
***
Half an hour later, Beau held a paper sack he’d filled during their quick stop at the ship. He gazed at C.C. sitting in the carriage seat across from him. “Now I want you to prepare yourself, madam. You are about to meet a pillar of Wilmington society. Her home is one of the finest in town and, doubtless, has pleasant accommodations for guests.”
Peering out the window, he saw two sentries standing on the corner watching their hack drive by. The soldiers’ presence gave him some comfort. Anyone wandering about this part of town wouldn’t go unnoticed.
C.C. tugged at her bonnet ribbons. “What should I prepare myself for?”
Beau stared at the frilly, red hat. It contained a bird’s nest with a real stuffed dove, dyed red. The silly hat actually flattered the woman. “How do I put this?” He kneaded the muscles in one shoulder as he searched for the right words. “She may take some getting used to, but Miss Priddy is a very generous woman.”
“How generous?”
“She has always opened her house and offered to put me up.”
C.C. tilted her head to the side and gave him a pointed stare. “An old girlfriend?”
“Not exactly. She is…well, you’ll see what I mean soon enough. You need rest and a place to gather your strength. The next leg of your journey may be even more difficult and dangerous.”
“Who will you say I am?”
“Why, Miss Calista Collins.”
A nostril flared. “So this time you do not wish to introduce me as your wife?”
“Noooo. I don’t know how Miss Priddy would take to me bringing a wife to her house.”
“Does she have designs on you?”
“You might say that?”
“Then how do we explain why I am traveling with you?”
“The truth,” Beau said.
“All right, let’s start with the truth. What is between you and Miss Priddy?”
“The truth?” He rubbed his hand over his jaw. The corners of his lips quivered. “I suppose, you could say she’s in love with me.”
C.C. thumped her umbrella on the roof of the hack. “Turn this carriage around.”
Beau laughed and grabbed the frill
y umbrella, pulling it down. “It’s not like that.”
“Like what?” she snapped. Her eyes spit sparks as she grappled with the umbrella trying to free it from his grasp. “I’ll not impose on a woman who has feelings for you. I’m in no mood to get between you and some long-nailed sister who wants to get her hooks into you.”
“I have the highest regard for Miss Priddy, but you have nothing to worry about.” He laughed. So C.C. was jealous? He rather liked how this was turning out.
“After what you know of me, how could you possibly think I would want to get anywhere near a rivalry with another woman over YOU?”
Her comment caught him off guard with a surprising sting. He’d not expected broaching such a deep subject now, but it did have relevance. “You won’t fight for me?” he said half in jest.
“I will not,” she huffed.
“I’d fight for you. I’ve fought for you.”
Her jaw dropped. Something dark flashed in her eyes. She twisted toward the window and pulled her lips into a thin line. “What are you up to, sir?”
The hack began to slow. He peered out the window at the ornate, spiked rod-iron fence bordering the front and adjacent street. “We’re here.”
Before the driver could open the door, Beau grabbed the paper sack, hopped out and instructed the driver to wait.
Letting down the steps, Beau helped C.C. out. “See? Quiet and safe.”
Elegant gaslights stood on the street corners. Large, attractive mansions lined either side of the wide street. Their stately designs attested to the high standards of talented architects and artisans. Some, though, clearly needed upkeep.
“You could call this the Madison Avenue of Wilmington.” He gestured toward the house. “Miss Priddy keeps a very nice home, don’t you think.” Huge hickory and oak trees shaded a grand three-story Italianate mansion topped with a sturdy metal roof and belvedere. The neighbor’s tall magnolia tree shed its leaves over a side fence of ballast stones and laced brick.
“I told you, I’ll not impose,” she snarled.
“You need somewhere secure for a good rest and to eat healthy food.”
The Trouble With Misbehaving Page 16