“Keep fifteen for yourself, Tyler; give me the rest. I’ve Theo and Nell to look after, now give it to me.”
Tyler pulled off his boot and fished in the lining for the amount she asked, a sheepish grin on his face.
“When was the last letter you sent to Regan?”
“A couple of days ago; with any luck we’ll be hearing from him soon. I gave it to a man just being released from the Men’s Debtors’ Ward. I’d done him several favors and he promised he would see that Regan received it.”
“Go back to your party, Tyler. I’ve got a great deal to think about. For one thing, I have to decide just how I’m going to face Regan when he discovers where I am and why.”
After Sirena and her two friends left the party, Tyler discovered he wasn’t having a good time. The wine flowed generously, the food was more than ample, and quite delicious compared to prison fare, the company was jolly, and yet his mood became blacker and blacker. Sirena was unhappy with the letter he had written to Regan. He had seen it in her eyes, heard it in her voice. Damn! he cursed himself. The woman had had more than enough to bear without his interference. He swore again, cursing his own impotence in arranging to have himself and Sirena along with her crew released from Newgate. The Baron and Baroness were off on their travels and were of no help to him. For the first time the name Sinclair was without influence.
Newgate was a horror to Tyler. He had come to the gray-walled prison several times when a client had found himself in sorry straits and even at those times the atmosphere was rank and he would hurry through the transaction and rush for the outer gates where he would take deep heavy breaths to clear his lungs of the putrid odors from inside. He remembered the first time he had been summoned to Newgate; sweat broke out on his brow and he could feel his armpits become damp and sticky. He had thought to himself then that he would rather die than ever be confined in that awful place.
Yet here he was, acting jolly and paying his easement, making the best of the situation. He had wondered how Sirena was faring and from the look of her he saw she was getting along well enough. Sirena always would, he thought. She was a special breed, strong and confident, seeing even the worst of times through to the end.
Back in his small, square cell along with three other men, Tyler lay on his bed of moldy straw and made a silent prayer that Regan would receive his letter and act on it. Even the money he had given Sirena didn’t guarantee she wouldn’t come down with a fatal disease; or that he was immune from disease, for that matter. Money didn’t protect one from the sudden bloody flux and the death that followed.
Turning on his side, away from his cellmates, Tyler brought a picture of Camilla into his mind. Throughout these past long days and nights it was her face that brought him the strength to go on. A new resolve had taken hold inside him. He knew now, without a doubt, that if he should ever gain his release from Newgate, he would stand tall and strong and confess everything to Regan. Camilla was his, Tyler’s, wife and nothing save death would keep her from him. The days of the weak, vacillating youth were over, and in their stead was an assured, determined man, willing to take the risks necessary to gain that which he most wanted in life. Camilla.
Each time Sirena heard the jangle of keys at the wardeness’ waist jingling through the halls, she held her breath expectantly, waiting for an answer to Tyler’s letters to Regan.
Each day passed slowly as she adhered to her routine. The money she had extracted from Tyler went to use buying worn, although clean, coverlets for the bare mattresses for herself, Nell and Theo. She had also spent four shillings for a bottle of spirits of turpentine to chase away the body lice that made them scratch and itch with unbearable regularity. The turpentine burned their skin and left an oily film of acrid stink but it seemed to do the job and they were grateful. They even rinsed their hair in the vile solution and they prayed they would not be forced to shave their heads as so many of the women did to rid themselves of the vermin. With scrupulous fine combing and daily doses, the problem seemed to be resolved.
The turpentine, however beneficial, was an irritant to Nell’s weakened lungs. She coughed and spat and was generally weaker, dark hollows showing beneath her too-large eyes.
Nell lay feverish in the center of her narrow pallet, coughing and retching. That day when she had emptied her slop pail in the free-flowing cistern, one of the other inmates jostled her. Whether by accident or on purpose, the results were the same. Nell fell into the cistern, gasping and hollering and taking in great mouthfuls of filth-strewn water. It took three guards to hoist her out while Theo berated them for their slowness. Sirena had run back to their cell to retrieve a thin coverlet to wrap around the shivering Nell.
With her newfound fortune from Tyler, Sirena induced the wardeness to bring her dry clothing for Nell, throwing out the wet and stinking petticoats and underwear. Nell would not hear of tossing Theo’s jacket into the rubbish and insisted that when she felt better she would wash it and it would be as good as new. It was one among many things which showed Nell’s hero-worship of Theo.
Sitting outside in the yard, the hot summer sun beating down upon, her did little to warm the ailing Nell. Theo watched her with worried eyes, tugging at her coverlet, tucking it high under her chin, making clucking, motherly sounds. Theo’s morals may have been. lacking but never her devotion to the poor, wretched creature who was her cellmate.
Now, as Nell lay shivering and coughing, Theo crooned to her, wiping her fevered brow with cool water and heaping blanket after blanket upon her thin, wasted form.
Sirena dug into her petticoat again and paid the jailor’s wife for a small brazier and several bricks which they heated over the flame and tucked around Nell. When the wardeness looked down at their patient, she clicked her tongue and shook her head. Theo turned venomously on the woman, pushing her out of the cell, cursing and calling her names. Sirena realized how important Nell’s survival was to Theo. If the thin, wasted woman who was racked with choking cough could survive, there was hope for the healthy, snap-eyed Theo.
Through the night and well into morning, Theo and Sirena alternated caring for Nell. When dawn was breaking over the high, gray walls of Newgate, Nell gave up the ghost, her filmy eyes looking adoringly at Theo, silently thanking her for all she had done these past months.
The fiery-haired Theo gently released Nell’s bone-thin hand and placed a last kiss on her sunken cheek. Then she and Sirena sat quietly saying their silent prayers for poor Nell, wondering who in the whole of Newgate prison would pray when death finally came to them.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Caleb stood on the deck of the gambling folly, the old feeling of being hemmed in nagging at him. It was time to close up the Sea Siren, repaint her hull, re-outfit her decks and change her name back to Rana. He wanted to take to sea again. He’d had enough. There were other things in life besides money. He would last out the winter here in London, then take on a crew and set sail in early spring. He considered going back to Batavia but thought how lonely he would be there without Regan or Sirena. No, he would see if he could secure a letter of marque from the King and set out for America.
Sirena herself had made off for parts unknown. Probably to Cádiz, Caleb thought. Even Regan, when Caleb questioned him, didn’t seem to know where she had gone. It was well known that Stephan Langdon had run off from the duel with the gambler, and when Caleb had asked Regan if Sirena had left with Stephan, Regan had an unreadable expression on his face and said, “In a manner of speaking. I suppose you could say that.” Then he had snapped his mouth shut and refused to say any more on the subject.
Another subject for secrecy was Regan’s marriage to Camilla. Caleb knew that Regan had moved into the room behind his office on Saint Dunstan’s Hill, but he hadn’t given his son any explanation of the move. Caleb shrugged. When Camilla thought the time was right, she would tell Regan. He wondered how his father would take the news.
Caleb knew dissolving his business would come as a blow to Lord Farrington, but then
he would hand over all the gambling equipment to him and help him get started somewhere else. The Rana was a seagoing ship and Caleb was glad he hadn’t let Aubrey talk him into opening her hull and expanding their business dockside.
A frown pulled Caleb’s mouth downward. Aubrey had been behaving very strangely as of late. Several times in the past weeks he had seemed about to confide in Caleb, but at the last minute he would clamp his lips shut and stride away. In the past month he had gone from morose to belligerent to outright hostile. Caleb didn’t know what sort of trouble the lord could be in. Profits from the Sea Siren had skyrocketed and he had little opportunity to gamble since he put in long hours aboard the ship. Whatever it was, Caleb had no patience for coddling the ageing aristocrat. It was time Caleb got on with his life and his future, and adventure lay just over the horizon.
Caleb flexed his muscles, trying to work loose the knots of tension in his back. An ominous feeling kept wrapping him in a cloak of depression and uneasiness. His brown eyes flashed as he heard the bone crack in his back. The muscles in his chest rippled and his biceps bulged through the fine lawn of his white shirt. He threw back his head and twisted his neck to work loose the knots that were settling between his shoulders. But the ominous feeling wouldn’t leave him. Should he try to talk to Aubrey again, would it do any good? No, he told himself. Aubrey was saying only what he had to say and counting his money with a vengeance. No, it was too late for talk. He would have to wait it out as Sirena had. Waiting was like a game except this time Caleb didn’t know who the other players were.
Aubrey Farrington watched Caleb, a haunted look in his eye. If anyone could give Blackheart a run for his money, it would be Cal. He owed Cal more than he could ever repay and it bothered him when Cat repeatedly asked if he could help. How many more times would he have to turn on the young man? Cal could deal with the hatred and vengeance Blackheart dealt him if he were given an opportunity. If he could in some way warn him, caution him that ... “I value my own shiftless life too much to take a chance on warning him,” Farrington muttered to himself. Cal had the strength of youth on his side, plus a keen eye and sharp reflexes while he, Aubrey, was old and getting older by the moment. He no longer had the wit, the expertise to get himself out of a scrape.
His throat worked convulsively as he was hit by a thought too horrible to put into words. What if Blackheart didn’t keep his promise and killed him? What if the swarthy seaman sneaked up on him after he overpowered Caleb and comandeered the ship. He wouldn’t put anything past that scurve. If there were only some way he could absent himself when the event happened, he would be safe. He could hide out; he had plenty of money.
Aubrey looked skyward and felt the knots tighten in his stomach. Twelve hours more and it would be the end. The end of him and the end of Cal. What would Regan van der Rhys do when it was all over? He would bellow like a wild animal and unleash his animal strength. Wherever Aubrey went he would have to be sure that he was safe from Blackheart as well as Regan. Would he ever have a peaceful night’s sleep again?
Caleb watched a seagull take flight and soar upward. He marveled at the incredible wing spread and the slow, effortless glide of the bird. He wanted to be like that—free, free to go where he wanted, do what he wanted with no ties, no binds. He watched a moment longer as the bird swooped and dipped his way into the thick, gray mist hovering overhead. Did the gull fly by instinct; did he depend on others to get what he wanted or did he do it alone? How would he find his way in the thick fog? Gut instinct, he told himself. The same gut instinct that was telling him something was going to happen, and happen soon.
If he had the sense he was born with he should up anchor now, this minute, and sail as far away as he could. Nobody mattered to him. Not Regan, not Sirena, and certainly not the yellow-haired Camilla. He grimaced ruefully. Somewhere, someplace there was a woman who would belong to him. All he had to do was find her.
An hour before the gaming rooms were to open, Aubrey Farrington sought out Caleb and complained of severe stomach cramps. “You’ll have to manage alone for a while, Cal, I have to go into town and seek out a physician. The pain is becoming unbearable,” he mumbled as he grasped his stomach and wobbled back and forth over the deck.
“Of course, I can manage,” Caleb said quietly. He was completely aware of the fact that Aubrey would not meet his eyes. Now, why did he want to absent himself from the Sea Siren this night? Damn, and Regan had said he had a pressing business engagement. Something was in the wind; and Aubrey exuded fear as though it were a tangible thing. “You better hurry before the pain gets any worse and you can’t make it to the doctor.”
Farrington stood up, forgetting about his stomach for a moment. “Cal ... I ... good luck.”
“Do I need good luck to run the games tonight? What makes this evening any different from the other nights?” Caleb asked sarcastically.
“Not ... nothing. It was just a figure of speech. I hate to leave you alone. Tonight should be a big night.” In more ways than one, he muttered to himself as he scampered down the gangplank. He turned once and waved a hand wanly. “Good luck and Godspeed, young Cal,” he said softly.
That evening Caleb wandered among the gaming tables and was aware of the undercurrent of charged emotions. He looked around and could find nothing to explain the feverish gambling and the reckless atmosphere. Satisfied that all was running smoothly, he walked out to the deck and stood stock-still. Even here in the stillness, the uneasy feeling wouldn’t leave him.
Quietly, he called over two of the deckhands and told them to search the ship. When he was asked what they were to look for, Caleb shrugged and replied if they found it they would know. He frowned and strode to his cabin and withdrew a stiletto from his heavy sea chest. He unbuttoned his waistcoat with the intention of slipping it in the band of his trousers. Then he changed his mind and buttoned his waistcoat and slipped the blade up his sleeve. Deftly, he secured the ruffled cuff at his wrist and moved his hand back and forth. Warily, he walked back to the deck and knew that he could do no more for the moment. Whatever was going to happen would happen.
One of the deckhands returned to Caleb’s side, a puzzled look on his face. “We found nothing but wet footprints on the stern deck. Someone was here and one step ahead of us. We circled the deck but could not lay hands on the intruder. The anchor chain is loose and ready, as if the order to up anchor were due any second. It’s been freshly oiled, within hours, would be my guess.” Caleb nodded to show he understood and told the men to go back to their duties. So, he was right. Another hour and the ship would be empty. All the gaming patrons and serving help gone. Then he would be alone with the unknown force who moved on his ship, unseen and unheard.
When the last of the kitchen help exited the ship, Caleb sprinted to his cabin and tore off his waistcoat and removed his shoes. He rolled his trousers up to his knees and, on catlike feet, moved out again to the deck. He knew the ship like the back of his hand so he had the advantage. Quietly, he extinguished each of the smoking lanterns until the Sea Siren was in total darkness. “Come and get me, you bastard,” Caleb whispered to the stillness around him.
Stealthily, he stalked the ship, his eyes wary and alert till he came to a stop near the anchor chain. His bare foot told him the deckhand spoke the truth. Fresh grease and used lavishly.
Crouching low, he moved like a hunted animal, his teeth bared for whatever was to come.
When he felt the prick of a blade in his broad back, he was stunned. “If you move even one muscle the knife will go through your ribs.” The voice was cold, deadly and familiar. The same voice that spoke with Farrington in his cabin and whispered hoarsely on deck. “Your ship is surrounded with my men and there is no hope of escape for you. I speak the truth so do nothing rash. It’s a wise man who knows when to surrender. And it’s a wise man who returns to fight another day. I am the living proof of that statement. Light a lantern,” he called to a figure that hovered nearby. When the lantern was lit and hanging, Caleb
was told to turn around.
Caleb’s eyes bulged as he backed off a step. “Blackheart!”
“Yes, Dick Blackheart at your service,” the hate-filled voice sneered. “As you can see, I’ve lived to return another day to fight. Only my quarrel isn’t with you. You, my fine young man are the bait.”
“You scurve! I saw the Sea Siren kill you with my own eyes. How did you survive?” Caleb demanded harshly.
“Does it matter? A murderous attack it was. There isn’t a day that goes by when my body doesn’t ache with pain. In truth, I’d be better off dead. Now, it’s my turn. An eye for an eye, my fine feathered friend. Very just, wouldn’t you say?”
“You’re a fool, Blackheart, if you think holding me will help you. Help you to do what?”
“To draw out the Sea Siren. Why else would I be here? And you’re wrong, I’m not the fool, it is you who are the fool.”
“The Sea Siren is dead, haven’t you heard?” Caleb lied.
“The Sea Siren is very much alive and living in England. I’ve been watching her for months and your little lies do not bother me. I’ve been waiting and biding my time for a long while. You won’t cheat me. I’m sailing this ship out onto open water and then a message will be sent to her. A message that you will write so that she’ll know it’s no trick. She’ll come to your aid. And if for some reason you aren’t important to her, she’ll come after me to finish the job she left undone.”
“You’ll have to cut off my hands before I write any messages for you,” Caleb said coldly.
“That, too, can be arranged. I can also manage to have an accident befall your father, the lovely Sea Siren’s husband, or should I say ex-husband. You see,” he sneered, “there is little I don’t know. Make no mistake, you’ll write the message if you want to see your father continue with his good life.”
Caleb’s shoulders slumped. He had to play for time until he could figure out what his next move should be. How many men did the damn cutthroat have with him? Were they as savage as he was? If he could just get the bastard alone, he would run him through the first chance he got.
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