The Trouble With Misbehaving

by Victoria Hanlen

  George raised his glass of rum into the air and shouted over the noise, “What shall we drink to?”

  His stouthearted pilot always asked this question after they’d completed a run. Before, Beau’s response had been, “To Millie and Freddie.” A moment of sadness seeped in before he managed, “To a successful run back.”

  George sipped at his glass. “Did you find Miss Collins safe accommodations?”

  “She should be all right for one night.” Leaving C.C. at Miss Priddy’s may not have been an ideal solution. He’d felt better about it when he saw two bodies pulled from the river afterward. A few hours’ sleep had given him enough energy for this celebration, but the racket was beginning to wear on him. “Where’s Oley?” he shouted.

  A screechy violin and three horns launched into another rowdy wharf song.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you?”

  “Oley…where is he?” Beau yelled.

  “I was wondering the same thing. Said he’d be here.” George looked around the crowded saloon. “It’s got me worried. When he says he’ll be somewhere, you can count on him. He better be taking care of himself because he promised to stand up for me at my wedding. You’re invited too if you happen to be in Nassau in January.”

  “You’re getting married?” Things certainly had changed while Beau had been away. George had always claimed he couldn’t settle for one woman. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

  “My lovely Maud. Already bought the ring too.”

  “Congratulations.” Beau gave his friend a hearty handshake and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m happy for you.” An unmistakable itch crawled his back. He peered about the saloon and leaned in to his pilot. “I think we’re being watched.”

  George nodded toward a man sitting by the front door. “Could be the owner of this place. I’ve heard he’s a Yankee sympathizer. He claims it’s only gossip spread by his less successful competitors.”

  Beau gazed at the man and then shook his head. “I was thinking more along the lines of Captain Shamus Hargreaves.”

  “Hargreaves?” George yelped as the band ended their song.

  Beau quickly glanced around. “Aye. Snake that he is, he’s shed his old skin. Hardly recognized him at the Royal Vic in Nassau. He tried to extort money from Miss Collins. We saw him again today at the Palmetto.”

  George’s brown eyes went wide. “I thought he was killed in a fight.”

  “Turns out he’s spent the last decade a guest of Sing Sing Prison in New York. I was second mate in the Royal Navy when he plagued the South China Sea. Back then he’d a penchant for drugging and shanghaiing his victims. It took me and four of my men to clap him in irons. The brute cursed us all, then managed to escape before he stood trial.”

  Beau paused and surreptitiously inspected those around him. The rowdy establishment had become so packed it would be easy to hide in the crush. Could the man have turned spy? These days it was hard to tell which side anyone was on.

  George cut into his thoughts. “Captain, you know I hold the greatest respect for you, but I feel I must ask. What are your intentions with Miss Collins?”

  “My intentions?” Beau laughed. “Are you standing in for her father?”

  “I’ve seen how you gaze at her. I also watched how she looks at you when you aren’t paying attention.”

  “And what kind of look is that?” Beau tried to sound indifferent as he raised his glass.

  “The kind that says she would give you anything you wanted.”

  “This is Miss Calista Collins we’re talking about? The one we brought over from Nassau?”

  “The very same.”

  Beau set down his glass of rum. “I regret to inform you, dear boy, the lady has strict rules about what she is willing to give.”

  “Do her kisses tell you that?”

  Beau narrowed his gaze on his nosy pilot. “Why the concern for Miss Collins?”

  “I’m not all that concerned about her. I’m concerned for you.”

  “Me?”

  “I saw the way you kissed her after we made it into the Cape Fear. You were lost to everything but her. Admit it.”

  Beau gulped the last of his rum and motioned to the bartender. “It’s out of my hands. When I put her on that train tomorrow it will probably be the last I see of her. Ever.”

  “Who will meet her at the other end?” George asked.

  “She says she’s arranged for a man to drive a mule and wagon.”

  “Will her six soldiers be going with her?”

  “She made it sound like she preferred a private reunion with her family.”

  “And she’s going to entrust her life to a stranger, traveling over isolated country roads that are sure to have thieves and robbers? Maybe even Hargreaves? You’re going to let her do that?”

  “Let her? I have no authority over what she does. She’s made that quite clear.”

  “There’s a war on.” George frowned. “This stranger she’s hiring could be any kind of a snake. She could get herself killed or worse. I’ve never seen you like this. I know you care for the woman. Will you do nothing to prevent her destruction?”

  “She made me sign a contract that said once I brought her to Wilmington, we would part ways. This is a business transaction, which she frequently reminds me…in case I forget.”

  “You saw her through yellow fever, probably saved her life. You were her nursemaid for God sakes. I said to myself, either this man is as big-hearted as any man can be, or he is in love with this woman and doesn’t know it.”

  Beau shoved his hand into his frock coat pocket and clutched C.C.’s pen. “I know what love feels like. This is different.”

  “I can see that. Everyone can see that. When you two are together you’ve never been so different.” George shook his long finger at him. “Tell me it isn’t so. Your voice deepens, you’re more accommodating, you keep one eye always on her, you get irritated when another man—”

  “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or do you just want to insult me?”

  “Both. You two are a match. Do I have to tell you this? Have you suddenly gone brainless? If something happens to her, you’ll never forgive yourself. Get yourself on that train tomorrow and make sure she reaches her family safety. After that, you can decide what to do.”

  “What about the Redemption? I’m supposed to take the ship and a cargo of cotton back to Nassau. You saw the number of Yankee vessels. You’ve heard the rumors. They could move on Wilmington any day.”

  “Let me put it this way,” George said. “Life can be short and rarely makes love convenient. Sometimes it only gives a narrow window of opportunity. If you can’t recognize and cherish the gift, then you’re not worthy of it.”

  ***

  Erastus grinned as he pulled open the door the next morning. “Captain Tollier, how nice to see you again. Come in. Come in. The ladies are waiting for you in the parlor. May I take your hat?”

  “No thank you, I won’t be staying long. I only need to collect Miss Collins.” Beau was a little uneasy about what he’d find. Miss Priddy had always been cordial and generous to men when they called on her, but he wasn’t sure how she’d do with a woman like C.C.

  As Erastus opened the parlor door, Beau gasped and bit back a curse.

  Miss Priddy and C.C. sat in straight-backed chairs, each knitting a sock. C.C. had pulled her lustrous hair into a severe bun at her nape and covered it with a ratty hairnet. A bent straw hat with crushed flowers sat atop.

  Brown homespun, several sizes too big, draped the rest of her. The patched gown looked like it had endured years of hardship. With her recent weight loss, she resembled a North Carolina woman barely scraping by.

  He studied her face closer. Were her eyes and cheeks that sunken or had she used something to hollow them out? He stifled a groan. What had he done? Only one day with Miss Priddy and C.C. had somehow caught her homely animalcule.

  Erastus spoke cheerily. “Miss Priddy, Miss Collins, Captain Tollier i
s here.”

  “Oh, oh, oh,” Miss Priddy jumped to her feet and threw down her knitting. One stubby little hand flapped through the air while the other fondled the ribbon under her chin. “Oh, Captain Tollier, you’re here. Come sit by me.”

  Beau struggled to give her a grin. “Why, Miss Priddy, what a lovely red bonnet. It is very becoming on you.”

  She stroked the hat’s rim and turned a light shade of fuchsia. “Miss Collins gave me hers. It’s the latest style from Paris. Look at the sock she’s almost finished. You didn’t tell me she is such a proficient knitter. Our dear soldiers will be so blessed to have such a master with the needles.”

  “Indeed. Clearly an oversight on my part,” Beau muttered. “Our English boys are well acquainted with Miss Collins’s very proficient…needles.”

  Only a slight flaring of C.C.’s nostrils and the faster click of wood against wood indicated the comment had hit home.

  “She’s also made a very generous donation to the Soldier’s Relief Fund. I do thank you, too, Captain, for being so openhanded in supporting our cause.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” Suddenly he couldn’t get C.C. out of there fast enough. “Alas—” he tried to smile “—we must get back to the ship. There are still a few details to settle before the train leaves.”

  “Of course.” Miss Priddy sounded disappointed. She trudged over and took his arm as Erastus led them to the door. There she presented C.C. with final gifts of an old patched wool coat and a basket filled with biscuits, salt pork and apples.

  Beau took Miss Priddy’s hand and brushed a kiss across the back. “Ma’am, I am beholden to you for taking such good care of Miss Collins.”

  “Oh, pshaah,” she said, her face coloring again. “Go in good health. And the both of you be careful.”

  As Beau descended the porch stairs with C.C. on his arm, she halted with an abrupt cry. He followed her gaze to the iron fence bordering the side street. Impaled on one of the rail’s spikes was something orange and furry.

  “Fosco!” C.C. gasped.

  Chapter 18

  Laws! Who could have killed that poor creature and why? C.C. gazed out the carriage window, not seeing the city passing by. She mulled over the possibilities. Could it be a warning of some sort? Surely it couldn’t be Hargreaves, could it? She felt awful that she might have brought danger to Miss Priddy, a woman who’d shown her nothing but generosity and kindness.

  She shifted her gaze back to the captain sitting on the seat across from her. He’d been silent since they’d entered the carriage. His expression bordered between annoyance and consternation as he slyly cut glances over her attire.

  It never occurred to C.C. that wearing clothes Pricilla insisted would help her blend in with the locals would get such a reaction from him. She pulled the warm old coat around her and tried to make conversation. “Did you find a comfortable hotel?”

  “Passable,” he muttered.

  While at Miss Priddy’s she’d tried to compose a proper farewell speech. But the right words eluded her. Time seemed to be speeding by. The situation required more than a handful of pleasantries. Her heart, her dratted heart, demanded a declaration that was completely out of the question. Which left her wracking her brain and praying for divine inspiration.

  Gray skies hung over the wharf when their carriage finally pulled up to the Redemption. Two large wagons with soldiers and mule teams already sat on the dock. Pulleys screeched as a load of barrels rose into the rain-laden air.

  The captain helped her out of the carriage and led her toward the ship.

  A line of stevedores, bent under the weight of their sacks, trudged down the gangplank. As each one passed, they dipped their head in deference to Captain Tollier.

  She’d seen ordinary residents do this in Nassau. Everywhere he went people treated him with admiration and respect. Some even gazed at him with wide-eyed fascination. She thought they did it because of his reputation for daring and having made a large number of successful runs through the blockade.

  Her visit with Pricilla Priddy had been enlightening. After hearing stories of what he’d done for the people of North Carolina, the captain confounded her even more. Pricilla had discussed his selfless dedication with helping those in need and painted a man with far more depth and complexity than she’d realized.

  How could she tell him she’d miss him horribly? Or that she’d grown to crave his company with an intensity she’d not thought possible? In his own stubborn, frustrating way, he’d challenged her intellect, made her feel deeply admired and esteemed.

  The whole situation had her more than vexed. Time was running out and she couldn’t decide what to say. While repacking her things in her cabin she’d toyed with various speeches, none of which said what she wanted.

  She went to the hold to speak to the soldiers guarding her crates. “The wagons have arrived to take my cargo to the train. Could you please see that the extra five crates sitting next to them are also loaded?”

  “Ma’am?” One of the soldiers looked her up and down. He raised his eyebrows to the others who also wore confused expressions. Addressing her again, he said, “I’m sorry but we’re not supposed to—” He studied her face and then gave her a sheepish smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

  C.C. wanted to laugh. Apparently Miss Priddy’s country gal outfit not only changed her appearance but made a good disguise as well. The soldiers hadn’t recognized the special messenger they were supposed to be assisting.

  When her crates were loaded, C.C. stood near the gangplank, waiting for Captain Tollier. She’d finally decided on the appropriate words with which to thank him and say good-bye.

  He soon came above and strolled toward her. He’d changed from his dapper suit into a tatty pair of old trousers, plain cotton shirt, wool frock coat and a well-worn planter’s hat. Even in his scuffed attire he managed a swagger and dash few men could achieve. And to her eyes, she’d never seen a man more intoxicatingly handsome.

  After all they’d been through, the moment had finally come. She gazed around the deck. Her words were not improper, but they were for his ears only—not the audience of seamen and stevedores marching around. The captain came to a stop in front of her.

  She opened her mouth. “I wish to thank…” Her voice cracked, flustering her even more. She cleared her throat and started over. “I wish to thank you for all you’ve done to get me and my cargo here safely.” She’d managed to say the words, but it distressed her how strident her tone sounded. A knot formed in her windpipe and made it hard to breathe. She coughed. “There’s no need to go with me to the train. It is best we say our good-byes now.”

  The captain stepped so close she could smell his shaving cream and soap. Memories of their kiss good-bye on the London dock leapt into her mind, and she couldn’t help the tremor that rattled through her.

  His voice deepened to a confidential rumble. “Really, Miss Collins? In front of everyone?” His stance and sultry tone implied he was ready and willing to reenact their London good-bye kiss.

  “Th-that’s not what I meant,” she stuttered, taking a step back.

  One side of his mouth curved into a smile as he straightened to assume his stern military bearing. “Don’t worry, we needn’t say our farewells…yet. We’ve a train to catch.”

  Now what was he doing? He’d been acting strangely all morning. She tilted her head to rub at the pressure building in her temple. “I have six soldiers escorting me and my cargo to Goldsboro. From there I’ve arranged for an experienced driver to take me and my mule and wagon to my family’s plantation. I don’t need you to nursemaid me, Captain.”

  He gave her a long, piercing examination. “Have you ever met this driver?”

  She drew herself up. “I am no longer your responsibility. You are still accountable to the investors for the Redemption and a cargo of cotton.”

  “Aye.” He gazed around the deck and then back at her. “You and I are finally contractually free of one another. I can do as I please.
While they offload our cargo and take on the cotton, I’ve time for a little sightseeing, maybe visit a few plantations.”

  Oh, no. He wasn’t going to go with her to Clarkston and that was final. There were a multitude of reasons why he shouldn’t accompany her.

  Captain Tollier picked up the picnic basket Miss Priddy had given C.C. and held out his elbow. “So, my dear, it’s to the train station. As much as it pains you, you’ll have to tolerate me a while longer.”

  Chapter 19

  The engine broke down twice, taking all night to travel one hundred miles. The train was in such fragile condition they rarely went over five miles an hour. During the long stops, C.C. managed to nap against Captain Tollier’s shoulder in the cargo car that carried her crates and the six soldiers. At ten a.m. they finally reached Goldsboro where she saw her cargo to a large Confederate warehouse.

  Captain Tollier then insisted the driver she’d arranged for was unfit and he would have to take her to Clarkston himself. He was right, of course. The driver smelled strongly of spirits and would be hard-pressed to navigate his way out of town.

  C.C. would have driven herself had Miss Priddy’s frightful stories about the recent crimes against countrywomen not reinforced the need to have an escort. But bringing Captain Tollier to Clarkston was not a good solution either.

  She needed her mother’s forgiveness, and that required time and privacy to sort out what really happened ten years before. Having the captain around complicated matters. If he overheard the lies printed in the newspapers, she feared he might believe them like so many others had. That she could not bear.

  After sitting four hours on a jolting, springless wagon, every muscle in her complained. This last leg of the journey was undoubtedly the most uncomfortable. Captain Tollier sat glumly at her side, frequently shifting position on the hard wooden seat.