41
ABOARD THE AMERICAN’S SHIP
NORTH SEA OFF THE COAST OF SUSSEX COUNTY
In a steady, stabbing rain, the American smuggler’s brig, the Narragansett, topped a wave’s crest, creaked, then teetered over to slide to the bottom of the next swell only to begin again. Colder than she thought she’d ever been, Madeleine gripped a hatch cover to steady herself. Nausea accompanied her shivering as she strained to make sense of the careening waves, the snapping of sheets and canvas above her, and the horizon of land sliding in and out of view only a few miles distant.
“If you’re going to be sick, my lady, it’s best for all that you take it to the side.”
She didn’t look at the American, who’d arrived at her elbow. “I’ll be fine, Mr. Turner,” she said loudly over the wind and her chattering teeth. “I’ve never been on a ship in a storm, that’s all.”
The American shook his head. “This is no storm. These are your English seas in winter.”
Bundled tight in a woolen sweater and topcoat, the American steadied himself with a hand gripping a rope ladder rising to the main gallant above them. Crew members passed by, heads down, unconcerned, tending to their tasks.
“That,” the American said, pointing toward land, “is the shore of Sussex County, adjoining mine and Roisin’s territory in Essex. Sussex is Geoffrey Singleton’s run. I’d heard he was in these waters, finishing a trip from the Americas. We’ll know soon enough if your choice to go south was the right one.”
She’d chosen south when they’d reached the sea, hoping it would be easier to catch the other vessel sailing with the wind, particularly if the ship they sought was at anchor. She’d had several hours to think about it as Mr. Turner accompanied her back to his ship, riding together on a borrowed mare, leaving the crew members who’d accompanied him to finish distributing goods. It was the only notion she had for making a choice, though Madeleine knew that catching a ship was no guarantee that the first mate they sought would be aboard.
“Assuming Mr. Ivars is aboard Singleton’s ship,” Mr. Turner broke into her thoughts, “why do you think he’d agree to accompany you back to face the risks of trial?”
“I’ve got an idea on that score,” she answered.
“It’d better be a good one.” The American stared for several more seconds before saying, “Listen now, you should probably go belowdeck and get warm in my cabin. You’ll be no good to me or anyone else if you’re crippled by the cold.”
“I’m all right.”
“Really? You look about to drop. How long have you been awake?”
She thought a moment. “Since yesterday morning.” And, she didn’t add, she’d barely slept for days before that.
“Nearly twenty-five hours. Go. Use my cabin to rest. There’s no shame in it. And no one will trouble you there.”
She looked at the American, surprised at his insistence and sincerity. “But you’ll come get me if you see anything?”
“Of course.”
Madeleine allowed herself to be led to the cabin at the stern, where the captain closed the door and returned to the upper deck as soon as she was inside. In the shelter of the small cabin, she felt instant relief from the wind and rain, her body relishing release from the cold as she sat on the bed.
How absurd this is, she thought. Every hour that passed sent her farther from London, and further away from any hope of returning to trial in time. The chance that Mr. Ivars was even on the ship they were chasing was slim, and her plan to ensure his return to London carried no guarantee of success.
She lay down, closing her eyes. She imagined her cousin Harold’s face, young and smiling, the cares of prison gone. He was always smiling and playful growing up—it was no wonder he’d been her favorite, and brother Devon’s too. They were so much alike, Devon and Harold.
Sudden pain shot through her. “I’m really trying,” she said aloud. Mother and beloved brother, both gone. How would she survive Harold’s death as well?
Devon’s voice filled her. “There’s no point to it, sister. See to yourself! Move on before they come for you too. You’ve done your best for us all and for Heathcote Manor. Start anew.”
“No,” she whispered. “I’ll see this through.”
She felt William’s arms, holding her as they waltzed. Felt again the haven of safety he’d been in the terrible seas of the ball.
Then her last bit of consciousness fled.
42
“Wake up, Lady Jameson.”
Madeleine was shaken, roused from a dream of running and stumbling through black woods with wolves and other creatures close behind. Her eyes came open reluctantly.
Mr. Turner was leaning over her, his nose and cheeks bright red, his coat saturated.
“We’ve spotted a merchant ship at anchor near shore,” he said. “Singleton’s schooner.”
The crushing truth of where she was came rushing back. “How long was I asleep?”
“Seven hours. Get up now. We’re closing fast.”
She followed the American on deck. The sun was up, the clouds parted, the freezing rain had stopped. Her ragged sleep in the captain’s cabin had hardly been a rest at all, but still the cold air in her lungs brought Madeleine jarringly awake. They were much nearer shore now, sails stretched tight, rolling toward a three-masted schooner with the name Spirit painted on her bow. The ship was held by taut anchor lines about a hundred yards offshore.
The American moved among his crew, shouting orders while men aboard the Spirit watched their approach, including one with a telescope at its stern. The Spirit’s gunports, Madeleine saw worriedly, were open the length of the starboard hull. The mouths of cannons were drawn up, prepared to fire.
The Narragansett came about, anchoring against the wind a safe distance from the Spirit. Mr. Turner went to the prow, motioning Madeleine to follow.
“Geoffrey!” he shouted across the water separating the ships. “Request permission to come aboard!”
The man with the telescope shouted back, “What for?”
“It’s private, Geoffrey. Come now. Our cannons are backed up. We’re no danger.”
Madeleine watched the captain of the Spirit confer with others surrounding him. After a moment, he cupped his hands to his mouth once more. “Come aboard, then! Three only.”
The crew launched a dinghy over the Narragansett’s side, with Mr. Turner, his first mate, and Madeleine aboard. With long, sure strokes in the rocky seas, the first mate rowed the distance to the Spirit and brought them alongside.
A rope ladder was thrown over the schooner’s side. Straining with fatigue, Madeleine led the climb, strong hands grabbing her arms as she neared the gunwale. When the first mate and the American were on board as well, a man dressed in heavy winter garb pushed through the sailors who’d helped them aboard. His face was narrow and pinched raw from the cold, his blue eyes lingering on Madeleine.
“Long time,” he addressed the American with an accent Madeleine didn’t recognize.
The American nodded. “Long time. And time’s in low supply for us just now. Can we talk in your cabin?”
The captain looked at Madeleine again, then pointed to the stern. “You know the way.”
Minutes later, alone in the cramped cabin, the American and his first mate stood close to the captain of the Spirit, speaking low enough so as not to be heard through the closed doors.
“Geoffrey, I’ll get right to it. We’re here about a member of your crew.”
The captain shrugged. “Needing repairs? I might be convinced to lend you a carpenter, if you’re prepared to pay and it’s quickly done. Wait. You’re not plagued, are you?”
“No. And we don’t need repairs on the Narragansett. Did you pick up a seaman for this voyage out of London, one named Quint Ivars?”
Singleton leaned back. “Why would I tell you my crewmen’s names?”
“Because he’s fled to avoid testifying at a trial in London,” Turner said. “In a case where I’ve got a f
inancial stake. This man could make the difference in our winning the case. Come now, Geoffrey. I’ve handed you a lot of information over the years. Helped you avoid patrols. This isn’t so much to ask.”
Madeleine listened from behind the American, now ignored. Gusts of wind buffeted and rocked the ship like a metronome counting down the seconds being squandered. Madeleine held herself back from screaming her impatience.
Captain Singleton only shook his head. “You haven’t given me that much information. Not nearly enough to turn on one of my own crew. How would it look to the rest?”
“This would be a new crewman, Geoffrey. Less than a fortnight aboard. You owe no loyalty to him.”
“What kind of captain do you take me for? You’ve got some guts asking such a thing. Have you forgotten Belfast two seasons past? When you slipped out and left me to that boarding party ashore with nary a word of warning? We barely cleared the port.”
“I scarcely learned about the raid before you did. Listen, Geoffrey, if you want to keep count . . .”
The last bonds in Madeleine burst. She elbowed the American aside to step between the men. “Captain Singleton,” she addressed the surprise in his expression, “if this man is aboard your ship, we need to get him and leave and do so now. We’ll also need help from any farmers you know ashore to arrange to rent horses to get us on our way. And if your crewman won’t come with us of his own free will, we’ll also need you to put him in chains for the trip back.”
Singleton stared a moment before his head went back in a roar of laughter. “Who is this woman?” he gasped.
“Lady Madeleine Jameson of Heathcote Estate in Essex,” Mr. Turner replied matter-of-factly. “She has a financial interest in this seaman we’re looking for and the trial, just as I do.”
Captain Singleton wiped tears from his eyes, sniffing as his laughter ended. “Well, my fine lady, shall I also arrange an audience for the three of you with the king? What do you say to tea and crumpets at noon? Garn, you’re no better than the American here! Tell me why you think I’d hand you one of my men to satisfy your interests?”
“Because I’d pay you very well for your trouble.”
“You’d pay, eh? You’d pay. Well, miss, there’s not enough money—”
Madeleine withdrew her hand from a pocket. In it was a necklace with a large dark pearl that glinted in the dusty light of the cabin.
Singleton’s eyes widened. Madeleine felt the American stiffen.
“Where did that come from?” Turner demanded.
“It was a gift from my brother, from Spain,” Madeleine said. “And it’s the last of my jewels. Captain Singleton, I believe this necklace to be worth a fair share of whatever’s in your hold. It’s yours if you do as we’ve asked.”
Singleton looked from the necklace to Madeleine and back again. Madeleine saw Mr. Turner’s hand stray to the pistol in his belt. She prayed it was to protect her and not to claim the necklace for a portion of her debt.
The captain turned and opened the cabin door to shout for his first mate. When the man appeared, he muttered to him, “Get the crewman we picked up just before we sailed.”
The first mate left, returning moments later with a thin man with slicked down blond hair. As the first mate led the man into the cabin, the thin man looked about, perplexed and nervous.
“Captain, I—”
“What’s your name, sailor?” Captain Singleton cut the man off.
“Logan Thompson, sir.”
Singleton looked to Madeleine. “Is this the man you need to testify?”
“I’ll need to see his upper left arm to know for certain. The man I seek has a tattoo of a schooner there.”
“Show her your arm,” Singleton ordered.
“What’s this about? I don’t—”
“Your arm, seaman. Or you’ll be swimming ashore.”
The seaman reluctantly removed his coat and rolled up his sleeve. Near his shoulder was a tattoo of a schooner in heavy blue-black lines.
“Yes,” Madeleine said. “This man’s real name is Quint Ivars.”
Captain Singleton leaned close to the seaman’s face. “This lady wants you to testify in a case in London . . . whatever your real name is. Are you willing to go?”
The seaman looked about again, this time as though searching for an escape hatch. “No, sir. I’ve no wish to leave the Spirit.”
“I understand.” Captain Singleton’s eye went to the necklace still clutched in Madeleine’s hand.
He reached out, took it, and turned to his first mate.
“Place this seaman in irons. He’ll be going ashore in the custody of Mr. Turner and this fine lady.”
43
THE SHORE OF SUSSEX
The stern lanterns of the Spirit were disappearing around a point, leaving the inlet to a panorama of high cresting waves and the anchored Narragansett. Reins on three horses, their manes long over winter coats, were held by one of the American’s sailors. Two other sailors waited at the dinghy, now pulled high onto shore, that brought them from the Narragansett.
Mr. Turner, his first mate, and Madeleine surrounded the sailor from the Spirit whose hands were chained before him.
“I told you,” Ivars complained, looking damp and miserable. “You don’t need to do this. I’ll testify as you want.”
“I wish I could believe you, Mr. Ivars,” Madeleine replied. “If you’re now willing to testify, why did you deny your identity aboard the Spirit?”
“I was worried was all.”
“Of what?”
“Of being arrested in London. Like Captain Tuttle was.”
She watched his eyes that wouldn’t meet her own. “Why seek work on a smuggler’s ship after you left the Padget?”
“I couldn’t find work elsewhere.”
“I don’t believe you. Most of your fellow crew members found new berths. You left the Padget and went straightaway in search of a smuggler. Why?”
“I told you. With Captain Tuttle arrested, and watching the boy shot and all, I was just scared.”
Mr. Turner, listening at Madeleine’s side, shook his head. “I don’t trust this one. Maybe a pull about in the cold inlet waters will loosen the truth from him.”
The sailor went silent.
Madeleine’s alarm was growing with each passing minute. But what good would it do to rush back with a witness who wouldn’t tell the truth? She needed to penetrate those evasive eyes.
“What do you know about the Padget being seized?” she demanded.
“Nothing. I was as surprised as everyone else.”
“Do you know a Mandy Bristol?”
“No.”
“What do you know about the Crown giving Captain Tuttle authority for the taking of French ships?”
Ivars grew silent again.
“Did you see Captain Tuttle’s Letter of Marque before the Padget sailed?”
Not a word.
One of the sailors from the dinghy came up the beach toward them. As he approached, Madeleine saw Quint Ivars’s eyes widen.
“Captain?” the seaman addressed Mr. Turner.
“What is it?”
“May I speak with you, sir?”
They moved up the beach, speaking quietly. When they returned, the American pointed at Madeleine.
“Seaman Johnston, tell the lady what you just told me.”
The sailor took off his wool cap, releasing a forelock to the blustery wind. “Miss, I know this man. I’ve sailed with him afore.”
“When?”
“Three years past. Aboard a brig named the Helen, in the waters near Madagascar.”
“That’s a lie,” Quint muttered. “I don’t know this man.”
“’Tweren’t a lie,” Seaman Johnston snarled. “You know it’s true. Anyhow, I overheard what you were saying just now, about a ship being seized and all. Miss, the same thing happened to us.”
“What do you mean?”
“On the Helen, our captain told us we were operating under p
apers from the Crown, allowing the takin’ of French ships near the Cape. Captured a big cargo of tea from a French brig headed sou’ by sou’-west. Then, when we got back to London, we all got seized by the Crown’s men, ship and cargo and crew. Took our captain too. Just like you were saying.”
“This man’s a liar!” Quint shouted.
“Shut up,” Turner growled, pushing him away. “Finish it, Johnston.”
The sailor gripped his hat and nodded. “This here Quint? Called himself Pogue back then. And, miss, you spoke of a boy. Well, Pogue brought a boy on board when he come on the Helen too. Served as a cabin boy.”
“What was the boy’s name?” Madeleine asked.
“Billy Doyle. Hard worker, the boy was. Everybody liked ’im.”
“What happened to the Helen in the end?” Madeleine asked, her heart quickening.
“They kept us all on board a day or two, with the captain elsewhere. Then they let us go, saying we’d be prosecuted for piracy if we said a word of what happened. I heard later our captain got sent off.”
“Sent off?”
“Aye. Transported. To Sydney. Heard he agreed to it to keep from a piracy charge. And we never was paid for the voyage neither, miss.”
The American stared at Seaman Johnston for a long while. Then he took Madeleine’s arm and walked her up the beach.
Early starlight sparkled on the dark foamy waves as Mr. Turner leaned near to be heard. “Lady Jameson, it takes no barrister to know this information could help recover the ship and cargo tied to your captain’s trial. Is your barrister up to making it work for us?”
The Barrister and the Letter of Marque Page 28
