When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  ~ Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post, 30 July 1809

  Letter from Lady Chloe Walsingham to Prudence, Duchess of Blackmoor, 7 August 1809

  My dearest friend,

  By now, the shock of my impulsive actions has worn off. At least that is my fondest hope. Matters of the heart far outweigh gulfs of perdition, do you not agree? I own eluding the captain’s relentless pursuit has not been an easy endeavor. It goes without saying that I have been forced to exert myself, though I have somehow managed to do so without significant hardship to me or my dearest maid, Jane. I need not remind you why my brother is the most valuable revenue man in the king’s employ. For this reason, I have kept my location secret and written less frequently.

  Oh, Pru . . . After nearly a week of nervous waiting, I am even now sailing to Penzance with the hopes of reuniting with

  The ship listed.

  “Oh no!” Lady Chloe Walsingham stared in exasperation as an ink blotch swiftly penetrated the perfectly crafted words on her priceless foolscap.

  Holy charity! She couldn’t possibly place this missive in the post now.

  She glanced upward at the beams of the deck overhead and bit her bottom lip. Whatever was the matter? Captain Teague had not warned them of any sudden weather systems their ship, the Mohegan, would have to exercise.

  “Is your letter to the duchess damaged?” Jane asked. Chloe’s maidservant and friend was not much younger than herself and braced a hand against the bulkhead.

  Chloe flashed Jane a petulant frown. “Dreadfully, I’m afraid.” She blotted the ink stain with a rag. “It is completely ruined, and I fear I’ve only two more sheets left.”

  In a show of frustration, Chloe tossed the damaged rag into the corner. Overcome with annoyance, she pouted. “There simply has to be more to do aboard this ship than writing letters and fiddling with embroidery. Oh, Jane. A gentle violence fills my soul. I am in need of an adventure, not this ceaseless rocking.” She sighed heavily.

  “We ’ave your book. I’ve never known ye to draw your nose up at it.”

  Chloe crumpled her partially written letter and sprang from her chair, wrapping her arms around herself. She paced to the other side of the cabin, all of a mere ten steps. “It is because of that book I am here in the first place. Oh, the agony of my despair . . .”

  She released another heavy sigh. Would there ever be a time in Chloe’s life when she experienced true love’s embrace? Would she hear Markwick’s deep, soothing voice proclaim his undying affection for her? In the past few months, she’d almost begun to give up hope that her dreams would ever be fully realized.

  “Come, Jane.” With sudden determination, Chloe picked up the deep-blue pelisse that matched Jane’s cobalt eyes and gestured to her. “I am done sulking. Nothing can come of it. Things are what they are, are they not?” Jane nodded, accepting the coat with a frown. “I own there is one way we can revive our spirits. Put on your coat. We are going topside to put an end to our discontent.”

  “Our discontent? I assure ye, I am quite ’appy to remain below.”

  Chloe contemplated the tip of her ink-stained finger, silently cursing the blasted quill that had ruined her letter. “But I cannot go alone. It wouldn’t be appropriate. You know that.”

  A sob tore from Jane’s throat, redirecting Chloe’s thoughts to the fact that Jane feared the sea. Chloe reacted immediately, closing the distance between them. If not for Markwick, she’d have never put Jane in such a harrowing position.

  “I know you are afraid of drowning, sweet Jane, but I am an excellent swimmer.” She bit her lip to cover her half-truth. While it was true she could swim—and well—it was doubtful she could save either of them in the cold, tempestuous swells of the English Channel.

  Chloe guided the conversation to something that would win Jane’s approval. “Surely a few moments of fresh air would be far more preferable than this dank, musty cabin.”

  Jane’s nose crinkled, and her eyes widened. “I would like a breath of fresh air, miss.”

  Chloe’s heart hitched. What kind of wretched soul baited a person for whom she cared deeply with her worst fears? Wasn’t it bad enough that poor Jane had been ill-fated to a life of servitude? Disastrous for Jane, as luck would have it, because Chloe often led the two of them into trouble.

  She hastened to grab Jane’s hand, desiring to reassure her friend that she had Jane’s best interests at heart, even though a small voice inside Chloe screamed that her intentions were selfishly motivated. After all, it was she who loved Markwick, not Jane.

  “Have no fear. You know I treasure you deeply. Though life would have been better for you if I’d left you behind, I simply could not do it. I depend on you, Jane. I hope that conveys the depths of my devotion.”

  Jane snickered. “By faith, ye could convince a rat to dance. In truth, I reckon ye only needed a maid to cinch your laces.”

  “Forget these trivial rags.” Chloe puckered her lips and swiped her skirts absentmindedly with her hand. “That is not the reason why and you know it.”

  Jane grinned mischievously. “Ye cannot fault me for pointin’ out your impious objectives. I know ye better than anyone, and don’t ye ever forget it.”

  Chloe had to agree. She and Jane had grown up together in the manor house. They’d spent countless hours avoiding Chloe’s governess, instead riding across the estate, pretending to escape specters from Francis Lathom’s The Castle of Ollada and flee from Scottish borderers in The Mysterious Freebooter.

  “Yes, you know me better than anyone, Jane. But I cannot go topside alone, especially when you are down here inhaling stale air. You are like my own right arm and deserve more than I can give you.” She frowned, hating the bureaucracy of rank and despising how fate toyed with social standing and human emotion.

  Chloe’s brother, Pierce—whom she addressed as “the Captain,” per his insistent request—had taught Chloe and Pru to swim in a most irrational fashion when they’d been young girls. What was one to do when one was thrown into a pond? The answer was easy: sink or swim. With enough sputtering and coughing, splashing and kicking, she and Pru had learned how to float and had become quite proficient at it. Though they both liked to joke about Pierce’s methods, Chloe was now thankful she could perform such a task. Jane, however, had not received the same instruction because she was a servant. Watching Chloe and Pru splash for their lives had ushered in a fantastical fear of drowning so intense that even Chloe’s attempts to teach Jane how to swim only increased the girl’s hysteria, a fact that she’d never let Pierce forget.

  “Come. I am quite content knowing that I am not alone in my pursuit of Markwick. And dear Jane, I have you to thank for that. In fact, if either of us has learned anything from my books, it is that every heroine must have a dutiful friend. Just as I aided the Duchess of Blackmoor, you are now my Bianca.”

  “I am ’onored to embody a character from one of your books.” Jane’s light and bubbly laughter brought a smile to Chloe’s face, though a hesitant spark still glinted in her eyes.

  “Then we are of one accord.” Chloe patted Jane’s hand. “We shall take a stroll about the deck,” she said, desiring to ease Jane’s distress. “It will be just as we’ve practiced, like a walk in the park, the two of us, arm in arm.”

  “You always ’ave a way of steadying my nerves, m’lady.” Jane shrugged into her pelisse.

  “I cannot abide a friend in distress.”

  “I am sure the Duchess of Blackmoor is equally thankful to ye for all you’ve done for her.”

  Chloe inhaled a sigh. “I pray that is so. She is ever so dear to me. I’d like to take credit for her current happiness.”

  “Need I remind ye that ye took little part in reuniting the duchess with ’er ’usband?”

  “Ha! There you are wrong, my fair Bianca. I helped Her Grace endure widowhood—however false her status was at the time—before she accepted Markwick’s proposal. And the pleasure was all mine, I assure you.” Even at the cost of losing Mark
wick forever, she’d willingly sacrificed her own happiness to see Pru smile again.

  Chloe donned her own pelisse, a forest green that matched the embroidered bodice and hem of her white gown, shrugging her arms through the sleeves. “I stood up for her at the wedding, as well. You should have seen me in action. When Blackmoor arrived, standing in the center of that ecclesiastical aisle, I felt certain that I was staring at a ghost straight out of one of my gothic romance books.”

  “Only ye could make that comparison,” Jane exclaimed breathlessly.

  “The duke’s timing couldn’t have been more disastrous . . . and perfect that day.” Chloe covered her mouth with trembling fingers, haunted by the fact that Blackmoor had hauled Pru over his shoulder and attempted to kidnap his duchess right in front of a crowd of witnesses. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t bask in Markwick’s misfortune. It breaks my heart to think how he must be suffering even as we speak.” She reached out for her gloves, her elation at Markwick’s situation turning quickly to guilt. “And I cannot help but admit that I was angry at Blackmoor for dissolving Markwick’s hopes for a future with Pru, though it did open the way for me to win the earl’s heart.”

  “Who’s buried in your crypt?” Jane emoted, flailing her gloved hands theatrically, then clasping them in front of her. She dramatically quirked a brow. “Sound familiar?”

  Chloe grinned mischievously. “Of course, silly. I’ve lost count how many times you’ve asked me to reenact my involvement that day over the course of these four months.”

  “I cannot help myself.” Jane burst out laughing. “Ye can be very theatrical when ye want to be.”

  “I hadn’t intended to be so at the time.” The shock of Blackmoor being alive had affected everyone differently. “Besides, how was I to know that the assassin sent by the Marquess of Underwood to kill Blackmoor had been buried in the duke’s crypt instead?”

  But there had been more shocks on the eighth of April, as well. Underwood had planned to kill Pru after the wedding once he’d obtained the map in Pru’s possession, which detailed a large source of copper ore on Blackmoor’s unentailed estate. Desperate not to lose his nest egg, Underwood had surrounded the chapel with armed men as a precaution. His diligent planning ultimately forced Blackmoor into a fight that caused Markwick—the jilted groom-to-be—to choose between fighting with his father and against a friend over Pru. Chloe’s careworn heart had thumped to life that day, reviving her hopes for a future with Markwick.

  Jane’s laughter unsettled Chloe. Was she mocking her?

  “I am certain your presence will put a boon in the earl’s spirits right enough,” the girl said.

  “I vow to you,” Chloe began, “that when we finally find the earl, I will make it my mission to improve his spirits.”

  “Ye won’t be alone. I shall ’elp ye in any way I can, m’lady.”

  Chloe’s heart liquefied, sending a surge of warmth through her body. “Your companionship does me a world of good, Jane.”

  Jane dabbed at her eyes. “Then let us go topside before ye ’ave me spilling useless tears. Fresh air would do us both much good.”

  Chloe nodded happily. “I vow fresh air will definitely resuscitate our spirits.”

  She looked back at her letter lying crumpled and discarded on the deck, frustration warring with her good sense. She’d wasted another piece of expensive and coveted foolscap to write her dearest friend. Now she’d have to use another. After that, she would only have one left for future use. But transcribe her adventures she must. Pru would be terribly worried if Chloe didn’t get word to her soon.

  And I will never forgive myself if something happens to Pru’s unborn babe because I caused my friend unnecessary distress.

  Until she could see Pru again, Jane—however differently she might wish it—was her mainstay.

  “Are ye coming, m’lady?”

  With a turn, Chloe followed Jane out the cabin door. Together, they proceeded through the passageway, dodging lanterns and bypassing several crewmen who fisted their hats as they made their way to the companionway leading up to the main deck. Immediately upon stepping onto the upper deck, darkness enveloped them and a steady southwesterly breeze snatched at their hems.

  “I had no idea the hour was so late,” Chloe said, second-guessing her decision as she turned to Jane. “Do you suppose Captain Teague will chastise us for venturing topside after dark?”

  Neither of them had long to find out.

  They scanned the deck for signs of the captain as they strolled hesitantly, arm in arm, across the quarterdeck to the forecastle, where several shore boats were stowed. The haven situated near the mainmast offered refuge against the Cornish wind’s brutal chill.

  “There it is again,” a member of the crew whispered from rigging attached to the gunwale at their right.

  Chloe huddled closer to Jane. “Why, do you suppose, are they whispering?”

  “I cannot say. Should we be bold enough to ask?” Jane suggested.

  “And stir the captain’s wrath by mingling with the crew again?” Chloe shivered. “No. The last time I had the audacity to question his men, we were ordered to spend the rest of the day in our cabin and threatened for the next.” She trained her stare on the men, trying to understand what the figures standing by the starboard rail were doing. Gooseflesh rose on her neck. “Perhaps we should stay out of the way for the time being.”

  “I agree. Speakin’ to the crew ’as only gotten ye into trouble, m’lady.”

  Curiosity had always gotten the best of her, that was true. She tightened her hold on Jane’s elbow and led her closer to the boats where they could hide and safely watch the men. “A bystander often sees more of the game than those who play.”

  “Bianca,” Jane breathlessly replied, acknowledging the quote from The Castle of Otranto, the book Chloe went nowhere without.

  “Indeed.” Chloe covered her mouth to stifle her giggling delight. By faith, she would have Jane quoting Otranto before their voyage was over. The girl had never had time for a literary education before. What Jane did know came from the books Chloe offered to read to her.

  A crewman snapped his fingers at no one in particular. “There it is again.”

  Jane leaned close. “Perhaps they spotted a mermaid.”

  Chloe looked at Jane and covered her mouth to keep from laughing, fearing the sound would give away their position. Their gazes locked, and together they crouched low, hoping to remain unnoticed.

  “Douse the last light,” a midshipman ordered.

  “I’ve long ’eard tales of sirens luring seamen to their deaths. Do ye think these men have ’eard one sing?” Jane’s whisper-soft voice held a tinge of anticipation and fear.

  “Be not alarmed,” Chloe said, channeling Theodore from Otranto. “Let us wait it out and discover the cause as Manfred did when searching for Isabella and the identity of his son’s killer.”

  “M’lady, will there never be a time ye don’t quote your books?”

  “Why, Jane—”

  Snap. Pop.

  Chloe raised her gaze to the sheets billowing above their heads. The canvas sails whipped around in a sudden violent dance, shocking her with the wind’s unrelenting force. She shivered, for the first time regretting the folly of leaving her cabin. Had she been wrong to go topside at night? Were they in danger from these men, and why did they act so strange?

  Of all the foolhardy things I’ve done . . .

  “There it is again.” This time the crewman grumbled loudly. “Fetch the captain.”

  Chloe ignored the warning bells cling-clanging in her head. Instead, she listened to the men while searching the inky-black distance for whatever eluded them.

  “There!” a man exclaimed.

  She craned her neck, focusing all her energy on the man and the direction he pointed.

  “Leading lights! If we don’t deviate from our course, we’ll cross the rocks!”

  Leading lights? Rocks? Her head whirled in confusion. What were they t
alking about?

  The men, four in all, broke into action, crashing into one another with calamitous results.

  Then a bell sounded, and the Mohegan was peppered with life in a proficient swiftness Chloe had never seen before.

  In the distance, aft of the ship, lightning punched a bright hole in the darkness. With it, an imposing silhouette emerged.

  Hair rose on the back of Chloe’s neck. “Should there be a ship following us?”

  Jane shook her head, her eyes wide. “I know nothin’ about shippin’, m’lady. I only know that I’m cold and frightened. Somethin’ isn’t right ’ere. I can feel it in my bones.”

  The Mohegan listed, groaning out one argument after another as the men stationed at her helm redirected the vessel’s bearing.

  “Stand by to tack!” a crewman shouted.

  Barefooted men shuffled past as they clamored to follow orders.

  “Helms alee! Helms alee!”

  Rigging groaned overhead, and blocks creaked against straining rope. Another bolt of lightning serrated the sky, highlighting canvas and the sinister silhouette of a ship in the distance.

  “Sail ho!” someone above them shouted.

  Captain Teague thundered past the forecastle. “Where away?”

  Tension swelled as the ship protested against the wind.

  “Ready about!” another man shouted.

  Jane tensed beside Chloe. “What’s ’appening?”

  Chloe rose on the balls of her feet. “There is another ship out there. Did you see it?”

  “No.” Jane shifted her shoulders and raised her head. “Where?”

  Chloe lifted her arm and pointed aft. “Look there. Wait for the lightning to reveal it to you.” Time seemed to stand still then until . . . “Look. There it is again. Do you see it, Jane?” Her heart fluttered against her ribs. Her lungs constricted, and she gasped for air.