She was studying his face, trying to decide if he was being truthful with her or not. It also told him that she was genuinely unaware of the value of what she wore so casually around her neck.
"There was another ship lost that year. One with the same initials: NSV. Anyone worth their weight in salt water should have known the name without having to 'search' any records. The Nuestro Santisimo Victorio was one of the largest treasure ships ever built. She disappeared in that same storm with all hands and a belly full of cargo reputed to be worth more than the crown jewels of England and Spain combined.
“Losing the treasure she carried not only meant the armada sailed without being fully supplied, but the army of invasion that marched overland was held up in the Netherlands, unable to acquire enough ships to cross the Channel. The Spanish navy never recovered from the humiliation and it took two decades to fill the treasury enough to try again.”
Eva frowned. “They tried again? Why am I not aware of that? I thought England and Spain signed a peace treaty?”
“They did. And the… fracas… we were recently engaged in was, in effect, making sure Spain honored that treaty. If we had lost and the fleet had made it back to Spain, the treaty would not be worth the paper it was written on.”
Eva had moved back against the outwardly slanted gallery windows. She looked a little numbed as Dante recounted the details of their recent battle and how close Spain had come to amassing another invasion fleet. Adding to that was her confusion over the false information she had been given about the Nuestro Santisimo Victorio for which she had every right to look confused, upset, and disheartened. She did not have the right to look at him with those big green eyes as if it was his personal fault that some bastard had lied to her.
He could almost hear Jonas whispering in his ear. Look away, little brother, look away. You know what happens when you get distracted by soft lips and pretty titties.
Jonas would be right. There was something alarmingly vulnerable about the way she stood there with the gallery windows behind her and the star-filled night framing the tangled blonde mass of her hair. The fact she was wearing his clothing, that it was one of his shirts conforming to the shape of her breasts, and a pair of his breeches being warmed by her thighs, made him briefly lose the focus of his thoughts.
He scowled and concentrated on the coin. "Men have been searching for La Fantasma as long as they've been searching for the lost city of gold."
"La Fantasma?"
"The Ghost Ship. Every now and then a rumor blazes throughout the Main like wildfire about someone finding the wreckage, salvaging the treasure. They turn out to be just that: rumors. Even my mother, who I consider to be in complete command of her faculties, heard tell of a map that reputedly showed the location where La Fantasma was run aground. She and Juliet scoured the area for weeks, coming back with nothing more than some incredibly well-detailed charts of the islands."
"Doesn't this coin prove that someone has found her?"
Dante pursed his lips. "Frankly, I’m not sure what it proves. It could be a clever fake, although someone would have had to go to a great deal of trouble to make it. The stamps for the coins would have been broken as soon as she sailed. Shall I tell you what else I know about the Victorio?"
"Please. Yes."
He handed her her wine goblet, which had gone untouched until now.
"She was a big bitch, built to be Spain's grandest symbol of power and wealth in the New World. She was over eight hundred tons, with fore- and aftercastles that towered three storeys above the water. She mounted fifty heavy guns and a score of smaller nut-busters and was intended not only to transport the king's treasure back to Seville, but to become the flagship for the grande y felicisima armada when it sailed against England.
"She led the plate fleet out of Havana that September carrying home over a hundred of the king's wealthiest courtiers and hidalgos, as well as generals and soldiers who had learned first-hand how to deal with a conquered nation and who would become England’s new royalty once the invasion succeeded.
“The flota left in clear weather. According to reports, the almirante sailed out of the harbor like a glorious angel, bedecked with flags and hundred-foot-long silk pennants trailing in the wind.
"She led the fleet for six days without incident, but on the seventh, the hurricane struck and caused most of the galleons in the convoy to break formation. Many were driven into the shallows and smashed upon the reefs. Many more were forced to scatter and seek shelter. For three days and nights the wind and waves drove the ships further apart and when the sun rose on the fourth morning, the Victorio had vanished. There was never any wreckage recovered, no sign of where she had run aground. The convoy escorts searched for days, weeks, but no member of the crew was ever found, dead or alive. And, as I mentioned before, no trace of her cargo ever surfaced."
"Until now," Eva said quietly.
"Until now," he agreed. "You said there were four coins?"
"Yes. Three of them were stolen along with my father's letters."
"Stolen by... the same person who shot you?"
"Yes. A man by the name of Augustus George. He worked for my fiancé, Lawrence Ross, who was the only other person who knew about the coins."
“Your fiancé? He was the one who misled you into believing it was from the Nuestra Senora de Valencera?”
“Former fiancé,” she said through clenched teeth. “And yes. He was the one who lied to me and then ordered Augustus George to kill me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
"I'll take them letters."
The looming black shadow of Augustus George stared at her down the barrel of a long-snouted flintlock pistol. She remembered thinking his eyes and the hole at the end of the barrel were identical: black, cold, and empty.
"Augustus? What are you doing here? What are you—?” She stopped and looked around, aghast. “Surely you didn’t do all of this!”
“Ye’re the sneaky one, aren’t ye?” he asked, glancing at the niche in the fireplace. “Never woulda found ‘em in there, would I. Now hand them letters over. The coins too.”
"The... coins?"
"Aye, them fancy Spanish coins yer father sent. I want ‘em."
“You wouldn't really shoot me, would you?"
The grin that spread across his ugly face made the blood turn to ice in her veins. "Might fuck ye first. Then shoot ye. He didn’t say I couldn’t do both.”
Eva shrank back against the mantle, her knees trembling, her heart about to explode through her chest. "Please. I don't know why you are doing this, but if you leave now, I'll not say anything to Mr. Ross."
His thumb caressed the brass serpentine lock on the gun and his grin widened to show the thick gums above his teeth. "Who do ye think sent me, ye silly bitch?"
Eva shook her head, shocked beyond any capability to think. Her hands were behind her, groping the mantel to keep from stumbling against it. Her fingers struck something cold and metallic and curled around the heavy iron poker. Reacting purely on instinct, she clenched her teeth, swung the poker up and hurled it across the room. The hulking brute presented such a large target, she could not have missed striking something, and it was his shoulder she hit. The poker bounced harmlessly off the iron-hard muscle, but when he flinched to avoid it, his finger jerked on the trigger. Eva saw the hammer spring down onto the pan, saw the powder in the pan spark and ignite in a puff of smoke to send the lead ball exploding out the barrel.
Something punched her in the ribcage and she spun around, slamming up hard against the stone mantel. She looked down and saw nothing at first, just a neat hole in the side of her stomacher. Beneath it though, she could feel something hot and wet beginning to spreading across her skin. There was pain too, delayed for the split second it took her to realize she had been shot, but then it flared into white-hot agony and sent her sagging down onto her knees.
Augustus George leaned over and snatched the letters out of her hand. The little box had opened when she dropped
it and the contents had spilled out across the floor: dozens of tiny wax disks in red and blue and yellow... and three tarnished silver escudos.
With a grunt, George scooped up the coins then crushed the rest of the disks under his boot as he stepped over her crumpled body and smashed the glass chimney off an oil lamp. He sprinkled the oil over the piles of torn bedding then took a candle off the table and tossed it onto the heap. The flame seemed to flicker out for half a second but then it caught on the oil and burst back to life.
“Please,” she gasped, holding out a bloodied hand. “Help me. I… I can’t move.”
Augustus smirked. “It weren’t nothin’ personal, Miss. Just followin’ the boss’s orders.”
He took a last look around, then strode out of the bedchamber and shut the door behind him.
~~
"Everything after that is a blur," Eva said quietly. "I remember feeling the heat and seeing the flames follow the oil from pillow to blanket to cushion and I knew I couldn't just lay there. I got up somehow and made it to the door, then down the staircase and outside. It was dark. There was no one on the street and I couldn't seem to find enough breath to scream or shout, so I just kept walking... stumbling, really, holding onto a fence, then a tree. I don't know what happened after that. I do remember falling and something licking my face... a dog, I think. The next thing I was aware of was waking up in a strange bed and being asked my name." She paused to moisten her dry lips with the wine and looked at Gabriel as she shook her head. "I honestly could not remember anything. I tried, but it was all a big black emptiness. It was horrid and frightening.
"The doctor said I must have hit my head when I fell and not to worry, that it was just a temporary loss. And he was right. After a while I started remembering things—who I was, where I lived. The kind people who had found me sent for Mr. Bernard, who was shocked to learn I was still alive. He told me the house had burned to the ground and they assumed I had been burned with it. There had been a funeral and three days later, the Cormorant had sailed with Lawrence Ross and Augustus George on board."
Dante toyed with the coin while he listened to her story. "So now you've come after them hoping to find your father before they do?"
"You might think me foolish and the task impossible, Captain Dante, but I couldn't simply stay in Portsmouth and do nothing."
He cocked his head. “Nonetheless, it might have been a better way to spend your time. I can't even begin to tell you how many men, how many ships of all nations have gone in search of the Victorio. None of the rumors or whispers of her whereabouts have ever yielded anything to prove she has been found."
Eva bit her lip. “You said the escudo looked real. Is it possible someone stole some of the coins before the ship left Havana?"
Gabriel shook his head. "If ten coins were minted, ten were counted and notched, ten were listed on the manifest, and ten were then placed in the hold and sealed. Unmarked bars of bullion have often strayed into the deep pockets of the greedy governors and administrators along the route, but coins minted for the king’s personal use? No. They are made in specific and exclusive quantities and bear the stamps and seals that mean instant death to anyone found possessing them. Believe me, Mistress Chandler—"
"Evangeline," she said, interrupting. "Or Eva. Please."
"Believe me... Eva... the Spaniards are as fanatically meticulous about their ship's manifests as they are about their religion. They itemize everything in their cargo holds down to the last punch of nails. Each barrel and crate is packed and affixed with a thick seal that is not to be broken before reaching Seville. Four copies of each manifest are made at the time the galleon is loaded. One copy remains with the ship's capitan, two are sent out on sister ships in the fleet in case of loss or separation—and to keep the capitan honest, I suspect—while the fourth remains in the governor's hands in Havana.
"In the case of the Nuestro Santisimo Victorio, one of those sister ships was captured and taken in prize by a Dutch raider. Listed on the copy of the Victorio’s manifest were sixty crates of gold bullion in bars, one hundred and twenty of silver, numerous casks of emeralds and pearls and exotic spices."
"You seem quite specific in your knowledge of what the manifest contained, Captain."
"Even if the ship and her contents were not legend in these islands," he said, allowing a small grin. "I have seen the documents. I've read them and studied them just as I have studied the logs and charts with boyhood visions of being the one to find La Fantasma's watery grave. To be honest, I put those boyhood visions away a long time ago."
"But you may be holding real proof that someone has indeed found her," she insisted. "And if you help me find my father, you might also find the Nuestro Santisimo Victorio!"
He laughed and fit the escudo back into the locket, snapping it shut. "As enticing as that sounds, I have nothing more important on my mind than reaching Pigeon Cay without seeing another sail on the horizon. It is a wish that may or may not be fulfilled, since the battle we have just emerged from by the skin of our ballocks, involved a few score of Spanish warships. Once they regain their sense of indignation, they will be scouring the islands with blood in their eyes and double-shotted cannons. At the best of times it would not be advisable for us to sail into a Spanish port and start asking questions about the wreckage of a missing treasure ship."
"But... what shall I do? How shall I go about finding my father? How would you go about finding your father if he was lost in the jungles of London and you did not know your way around?"
"There are cannibals in London?"
"Some would say yes," she answered pertly.
He smiled at her sarcasm, but in the end only shook his head. "I am afraid I don't have an easy answer. You are familiar with the expression... searching for a blade of grass in a stack of hay? This is more like a drop of water in a rain barrel. You don't even have a clear idea where he was the last time he sent word home."
Her jaw set stubbornly and she stared at her empty goblet for a moment before reaching for the bottle and refilling it herself. Gabriel noted the tremor in her hands and the huge effort it was taking not to burst into tears of anger and frustration—which was just as well, for he would sooner be confronted with a coiled, poisonous viper than a woman leaking water down her cheeks.
"The captain of the Eliza Jane was willing to help me," she muttered into her wine.
"You showed him the coin as well?"
"And the letter from the baker's son. Captain Fitch was one of my father's dearest friends and he believed me. He was convinced my father was still alive."
"From the sound of it, so was your fiancé."
"Former... fiancé," she reiterated savagely.
"Enough so that he was inspired to rob you, shoot you, and leave you to die in a burning house. As for the captain of the Eliza Jane, he not only saw the coin, he landed on Fox Island and probably asked the wrong questions of the wrong people. There is no telling whose interest he piqued and who may have had information about your father's whereabouts that he chose to keep to himself. Can you see how the situation becomes less and less appealing?"
"You mean... there could be others looking for Father now?"
“One drop of blood in the water can attract a hundred sharks for a feeding frenzy. If someone thought your father knew the location of the wreck, and they knew where he was, I would say yes, there could well be a good many others looking for him now."
She lost the battle with her tears and Gabriel found himself staring into two deep pools of silvery water. Growling inwardly, he set his goblet aside and fingered through some of the thick rolls of sea charts until he found the one he sought. He spread the chart open, using his dagger and an inkwell as weights to keep the edges from rolling in on themselves.
His mother was a chartmaker and had spent the past thirty years or so making extremely detailed maps of the islands. This particular chart showed the Baha Mas chain of islands, the Strait of Florida, the location of the treacherous shallow
reefs, and the eastern coast of Hispaniola from Havana to Baracoa.
"When the hurricane struck," he murmured, "the flota was somewhere in this vicinity." He circled the chart at a point midway between the lower tip of Florida and the Berry Islands. "The winds blew like aliento del diablo, the devil's own breath. Some of the galleons ended up as far east as Lucaya, others were blown south and sought shelter in the smaller islets. If your baker's letter is genuine, and if your father was last seen on New Providence, it would suggest an area within a two, three day sail if he was there getting supplies."
"The letter said they had to hide when the Spanish came to the well for water. So... somewhere with a well?"
Gabriel closed his eyes briefly to contain the urge to either laugh or slash the absurdity of that statement with sarcasm When he opened them again, he saw that she was watching him with one of those breathless, hopeful expressions that was even worse than tears. Her lashes were spiked with wetness, her lips parted, her hands were clutching the goblet like it was a lifeline.
He scowled and drew a larger circle on the chart with his finger. "A three day sail entails an awfully wide area Mistress Chandler."
"Eva."
He stared at her for a long moment, recalling why he preferred women who talked less and knew how to put their mouths to better use.
"If memory serves, the general opinion of those in the convoy put the galleon as far east as Abaco, where most of the searches have been conducted.”
"You sound dubious."
"Not dubious. But from my own experiences with the currents and winds, two ships sailing side by side can end up a hundred leagues apart after a simple squall. And what that means is—" he saw a fleeting spark of hope flickering in her eyes and smothered it instantly. "What that means is, my skull is still too bruised to think clearly. Perhaps when we reach Pigeon Cay, fresher eyes and fresher minds will be able to make something of all this. For now, I don't mind saying I could use about twenty hours of sleep. Would you care to join me?"
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