It was amazing how many residents and visitors to Nassau now claimed to know Captain Sherwood. When Lily went shopping, the merchants often asked her to give the Captain their best, and they would swear to anyone who asked that they had met the man. It was difficult at times to keep a straight face when confronted with this phenomenon, but Lily managed. She was becoming quite an actress.
“Captain.” Tommy’s deep voice startled her. “You should be resting.” Tommy always expressed concern at how little Lily slept during their voyages. A couple of hours a night were all she could manage, between taking the wheel and setting the course, seeing that the cargo was properly secured and that the crew functioned well. Many of the tasks she took on could have been handled by others, but that was not Lily’s way.
“I’ll sleep for two days once we get home.” She allowed herself a small smile for her uncle. Tommy would have made a wonderful captain, and she sometimes wondered if he might not decide to buy his own steamer someday and strike out on his own. He had offered to captain her ship, while she stayed at home and collected most of the profits. That didn’t seem fair to Lily, and she had a deeply ingrained sense of what was fair. Her crew received a better share of the profits than did most blockade runners’ crews. It was a dangerous business, and Lily was well aware of that. She made certain that her crew was aware of that also. Her own profits were still outrageous, but that wasn’t what compelled her. It was the vision of her father that drove her, the vision of him standing there holding his pipe, wondering what had gone wrong.
Tommy watched his niece as she turned to once again stare at the sea before her. James had once said that Lily had salt water in her veins, and that he had never met another woman who loved the sea as she did. She seemed to gain life from the salt air itself, from the spray that rose and rained on her. Lily turned her face upward to the sun and grasped the polished rail with strong hands—hands that were capable of taking the wheel of the steamer and guiding her through the narrow channels or holding her steady through a summer squall.
“Another good run,” he said to her back.
“Aye, that it was,” she agreed, her thoughts evidently elsewhere. Probably on the next run, if Tommy knew her as well as he thought he did.
“You’re beginning to sound like a Liverpool dock rat,” he said with affection. If he and Cora had been able to have children, he couldn’t imagine that he would have loved them any more than he loved his niece Lily. With a smile, his thoughts turned to his wife. Cora awaited their arrival in Nassau. His voyages now kept him away from her for days, not months, and the profits were much grander. It was a good life they were living, thanks to Lily.
He knew that what they were doing was perilous, and that for a woman to dress in trousers and take command of a ship was unheard of—especially in the society Lily had been raised in, a courtly society where the pirate Anne Bonny was probably dismissed as a legend. If he could have convinced Lily to stay home and let him take the risks for her, he would have.
But he couldn’t, so he became her right-hand man, her first mate, and this was where he would stay. Until the war was over. Until her mission was done.
Quint limped down the walkway, the picturesque shops he passed becoming familiar to him after four days in Nassau. He paid them little mind. It was a bad day as far as his leg was concerned, the pain shooting through his thigh with each step. The surgeon had said it would take some time—though how much time he’d refused to guess—and that for the rest of his life Quint would have days when his leg pained him. Damn it all! Months had passed, and he still felt like an invalid. Quint leaned on the hated cane, the sleek black cane with the gold handle—a serpent’s head—grasped in his right hand.
At last he came to the house he was looking for. His contact’s home. There was nothing about the cottage to set it apart from the surrounding houses. They were all tidy and well tended, and everyone had attempted to fight the native foliage that sought to encroach on their homes.
For the past four days, Quint had done nothing but establish himself in the best hotel in town and seek out the readily available games of chance. He had lost on one night as much as he had won the night before, and had readily identified the Confederate partisans he was expected to befriend.
The whole damn island was coursing with Southern sympathizers. Quint fit right in, with his cultured accent and the well-cut gentleman’s clothes the colonel had provided for him. It was hard not to fit in, on an island populated almost entirely with Southerners, an island that had become a sanctuary for the blockade runners and their crews.
A uniformed servant opened the door quickly after Quint’s knock, and he wondered if he was expected. Colonel Fairfax had only told him to make contact when he felt it was safe to do so.
“Quintin Tyler to see Mrs. Slocum.” He presented himself to the woman, distancing himself with the scowl that had become a natural part of his countenance, a look that warned others to leave him alone. He had to work to remove that grimace from his face when he sat across from the Rebel sympathizers and the blockade runners who supplied the South. He didn’t think he had the makings of a very successful spy.
The maid ushered him into a well-stocked library, a semi-dark room where every wall was lined with books and the furnishings were dark and masculine. He noted that there was not a single cut flower, not a speck of lace in the room to show that the house was inhabited by a woman.
Mrs. Slocum rose to meet him, and he was surprised once again. He had been expecting an older woman. Colonel Fairfax had told him that Eleanor Slocum was a widow, and Quint had pictured a gray-haired old lady dabbling in the spy game. But the lovely dark-haired woman who greeted him couldn’t be much older than he was. He really didn’t want to know how many young widows the war had produced.
“Thank you, Naomi.” She dismissed the servant with an even smile and in an accent much like his own, deep and slow. She never took her eyes from him, never glanced at the servant who left silently, or dropped her gaze to the desk. She was studying him critically, and with a satisfied smile on her handsome face.
Quint didn’t attempt to hide his impatience from her, and he didn’t return her smile.
“Mr. Tyler,” she said, circling around the desk, holding the voluminous skirt of her black silk dress in both hands. “Lieutenant Tyler,” she corrected herself softly. “Welcome to Nassau.”
Quint bowed at the waist, a curt and almost insolent greeting. “Mrs. Slocum. I suppose you know why I’m here. Shall we get on with it?”
She didn’t seem at all put out by his attitude, but remained placid. “Please call me Eleanor, Quintin.”
She sighed with what might have been resignation and returned to her desk. “We will be spending quite a bit of time together in the next several weeks. All information you collect is to be delivered to me.” She was suddenly curt, businesslike, and she offered Quint a chair with a wave of her slender hand. “Have you met any of our colorful blockade runners yet?” Her tone was sardonic, and she gave Quint a half-smile. “The heroes of the South?”
“I met a Captain Dennison, and a bull of a man named John Wright.” Quint took the chair, grateful to be able to take the weight off of his bad leg. He extended it before him gingerly. “I lost a bit of money to them both.”
“Good. Lose a bit more. I can replenish your funds when you deliver your information.” She placed her elbows on the desk in little-girl fashion and rested her chin in her hands. “Have you heard of a Captain Robert Sherwood?”
“I heard his name mentioned once or twice, but I haven’t met him.”
“His ship has been out for eight days, so you wouldn’t have had the opportunity. Not yet. He might be difficult to get close to. Captain Sherwood doesn’t show himself around town like the other captains do. He… keeps to himself, he and his woman.”
“His woman?”
“Yes. I’ve heard rumors that he has a wife in England, but he lives on this island with a Southern woman. Miss Lily Radford.
”
There was pure dislike in her voice, almost venomous, and Quint wasn’t certain if it was for Miss Radford or for Southern females in general. Odd, since Eleanor Slocum was so obviously of Southern heritage herself.
“Miss Radford comes to town on occasion, and the Captain apparently makes an appearance now and again, but I have never seen him.”
Quint leaned back in his chair, for a moment able to forget the pain in his leg. “That seems strange. He doesn’t have to hide. No one on this island bothers to conceal their involvement with the blockade-running enterprise. On the contrary. They’re local icons who feed the economy.”
Eleanor shrugged. “Sherwood’s very successful. It would be a notable distinction for us if we could aid in his capture.”
“He doesn’t live in the hotel, I take it.”
Eleanor smiled. “Lily Radford owns a house just south of here. A lovely two-story white house with a private path to the beach. Sherwood has been seen, on occasion, walking that path draped in a hooded cloak. Depending on who you talk to he’s short, he’s tall, he’s fat, he’s thin. The man is a regular chameleon.” Her smile widened. “That’s the name of his ship. The Chameleon.”
“Should I concentrate on Captain Sherwood?”
Eleanor shrugged her shoulders. “Not necessarily. But keep your eyes open. I’d like to get this one.” She gave Quint a misty-eyed look. “This war won’t be over until we can stop the blockade runners. When the South is starving and they have no ammunition… then this nightmare can end.”
Quint wanted to ask her what had motivated her to become involved. Was she really a widow, or was that simply her cover? If she was a widow, had her husband’s death driven her to become a spy?
“Our story is that you and I are old friends, who are going to become lovers.” Eleanor smiled at Quint’s raised eyebrows and the questioning tilt of his head.
“Don’t worry,” she said quickly. “I don’t plan to carry my dedication to the Union quite that far. But the appearance of our involvement will give you an opportunity to come and go at any time, day or night. Discreetly, of course,” she added wryly. “I have my reputation to think of.”
Eleanor stood, and Quint knew that he was dismissed. Leaving his troops behind and becoming a spy still didn’t sit well with him, but he was beginning to see what he might be capable of. If the blockaders knew when and where to expect the smaller and faster steamers, they could set up an effective trap and make blockade running unprofitable for their captains.
He walked back to the hotel less conscious of the pain in his leg than he had been earlier. His mind was on other concerns. Captain Sherwood. For some reason the man intrigued Quint… a mysterious captain who hid from the rest of the world.
With a new purpose, Quint entered his fine hotel with a reluctant grin on his face. Sherwood wasn’t even on the island, if Eleanor’s information was correct. But she would be—his mistress. The Lily Radford that Eleanor had spoken of with such obvious distaste. She was undoubtedly still on the island. Perhaps that was the way to proceed. Meet the man through his mistress.
Quint spotted James Dennison in the doorway to the dining room and approached with his friendliest smile set in place. “Captain,” he called when he was a few feet from the tall, thin seaman. “Please tell me you’ll give me an opportunity to win back some of the money I lost to you last night.”
Captain Dennison grinned at Quint, flashing straight, white teeth set in a sun-bronzed face as he straightened his royal blue jacket. His joy at the opportunity presented him was evident in twinkling blue eyes.
“Aye, Tyler. I’d be happy to take a bit more o’ your gold.” Dennison sounded like a pirate of old, his accent as strange to Quint as his own well-bred Southern accent most likely was to the Englishman.
“I met an interesting woman this afternoon,” Quint said as they walked to their table together. They’d share a meal and a few glasses of rum before the gambling began. “I was wondering if you might be acquainted with her. A Miss Lily Radford.”
Dennison smiled wickedly. “Ah, so you’ve finally met Miss Lily. She’s a beauty, that one.”
Quint nodded, though he had no idea what Lily Radford might look like.
“I’ll warn you, though,” Dennison continued as he folded his tall frame into a comfortable chair. “She’s Captain Sherwood’s woman, and he’s a right jealous one, he is.”
“Really?” Quint managed to look disappointed. “His woman, you say. Not his wife?”
“Don’t be gettin’ ideas, Tyler,” Dennison warned, his grin fading and the sparkle leaving his pale eyes.
They were silent as a waiter placed, without asking, two full glasses of rum before them. The dining room would soon be full, but at the moment most of the tables were unoccupied. Quint was always more comfortable later in the evening, when the room was full and smoky and he felt almost invisible.
“Is Captain Sherwood a friend of yours?”
Dennison hesitated before answering, but only briefly. “Aye, he is. Take caution, mate. He wouldn’t like you showin’ an interest in Miss Lily. He’ll run you through, cut out your heart, and have it for breakfast.” Dennison lowered his voice as he finished delivering his warning. “Forget about Miss Lily.”
Quint raised his glass in salute to the gregarious captain across from him. “Thank you for the warning, my friend. I’ve never met a woman I’d literally lose my heart for.”
They both laughed heartily and moved on to other subjects of interest, but Quint’s mind was never very far from the mysterious Captain Sherwood and his woman, Lily Radford.
Three
Lily strolled down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, a parasol shading her face from the sun. It wasn’t evident to those who watched that it was an effort for her to maintain the slow pace, that she wanted to stride quickly into town and get this chore over with. Her lavender gown was fussy and uncomfortable, but Lily controlled the urge to squirm in the scratchy petticoats and to crane her neck against the lace that brushed her throat. She’d drawn the line at the corset Cora had laid out for her and had left the torturous device where she’d found it, draped across a chair in her bedroom.
These appearances in town were necessary, though she dreaded the excursions. Lily smiled widely and vacantly at everyone who passed and nodded to those gentlemen who tipped their hats, but she never stopped to chat. On occasion she used her parasol like a shield, dipping it down to come between her face and the eyes of a passerby who stared too hard, too openly. She never stopped to chat. It would be foolish to invite friendship, closeness of any kind, when Nassau was swarming with spies.
She closed her lavender parasol that so perfectly matched her dress, and stepped into the fashionable shop, closing the door gently behind her. There was, fortunately, only one other patron present, a gossipy middle-aged woman Lily had met several times. Perfect.
“I simply must have that stunning hat you have displayed in your window.” Lily smiled at the shopkeeper. It had taken her months to remove the English influence from her voice, but she had accomplished that quite well. She wondered what Elliot would say if he could hear her, and if he would realize that she was mimicking all the girls he had so admired. No. He wouldn’t comprehend that at all. He would think that she had finally become a lady. A real Southern lady.
“I know I shouldn’t purchase a single thing. The Captain brings me more gowns and hats than I will ever be able to wear, but…. ” She positively simpered. “I simply must have that hat.”
The shopkeeper, an elderly man named Terrence who had lived on the island for years, removed the hat from the window with great care and handed it to Lily with a slight bending of his waist in a courteous bow. She was always treated well here, but then, she was one of his best customers. In spite of her Captain’s gifts.
Lily placed the hat on her head. She studied her image in the mirror from the front, from each side, and over her shoulder. Terrence and Mrs. Greene watched her closely. It was a h
ideous hat.
“How is the Captain, Miss Radford?” Mrs. Greene asked boldly.
“How very kind of you to ask, Mrs. Greene.” Lily fluttered her lashes as she glanced over her shoulder at the nosy woman. “He’s quite well. Exhausted, as he always is when he returns from one of his jaunts. What do you think of this hat?”
Mrs. Greene’s eyes widened as she studied the wide-brimmed hat that was festooned with ribbons and bows in several different colors. “It’s lovely, dear. Just lovely.” Mrs. Greene was a poor liar. “Will you and the Captain be at the ball on Saturday?”
“Perhaps,” Lily answered coyly. Another bloody ball. “I’m afraid the Captain might not be feeling up to it, so soon after a tryin’ voyage.”
“But surely…. ”
“I’ll take this fabulous hat.” Lily withdrew a silver coin from her bag. “The Captain will understand.”
She heard the door open and braced herself to face another of Nassau’s citizens. With the ridiculous hat still perched on her head, and a practiced and insipid smile on her face, Lily turned away from the shopkeeper.
“Mr. Tyler,” Terrence greeted the new customer, reaching under the counter and withdrawing a box of cigars. “These just came in this morning.”
Lily found herself staring into the eyes of a stranger. He didn’t look away, but held her gaze with his dark eyes, eyes that announced his interest and suggested at mischief in their depths. The man ignored Terrence’s offered cigars and smiled at her as if she were some wharf-side doxy.
There was something mesmerizing about the stranger. His black suit fit him well, but was perfectly ordinary. It was his eyes that were so fascinating. He should have had black hair, with those dark eyes and lashes, but he didn’t. His full hair was an ash brown, without a touch of red or gold, and an errant lock fell across his forehead. It only made his eyes seem darker, deeper, and more powerful.
She lifted the hat from her head and turned away from the man. Stupid, stupid girl, Lily chided herself. She had expected to find herself face to face with someone like Mrs. Greene. Safe. Familiar. Easy to fool. The man with the cane and the dark eyes that seemed to see right through her had given her a start. Handsome and tall, dark and powerful, he had forced her to turn away. Lily didn’t like being caught off guard.
In Enemy Hands Page 3