He shot a flirtatious grin back in the mirror. “The exulted duke of deckhands will be in sore need of relief later this evening. I do hope your door remains open.”
She rose from the vanity seat. “Are your rooming arrangements with Mr. Moore cramped? I hope not.”
His gaze traveled over burgeoning bosom, up her throat to a pout that she would soon form into a frown if he did not stop his ogling.
“Come here.”
She tilted her chin in defiance, and he yanked her close, covering her lips with his. He entered her mouth with his probing tongue and a great deal of vigor. A tingle shot through her body and he did not relent until she returned his ardor. She wrapped her hands around his neck and tussled the short waves at his nape. He spoke softly against her lips. “The gentlemen’s accommodations are tolerable.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Two narrow single beds, which prevent me from accidently nuzzling up against Dex in the middle of the—”
A rap came at the door. She caught a flash of annoyance in his eyes. He stole a quick kiss before crossing the room. Detective Moore, Greek seafarer cap in hand, stood at the threshold with a bit of a glower on his face. “We should get down to the pub.”
“What’s the dinner fare like? I’m starving.” Phaeton turned to America. “Hungry, Mrs. Black?”
America covered her outrageous attire with a warm black coat. “Famished.”
“Love a woman with healthy appetites.” Phaeton carried on in his usual carefree jovial manner, but America could not help but attune herself to the nervous undercurrent in his demeanor. She very clearly sensed him steel himself for the evening ahead as he and Detective Moore jockeyed to escort her down the servants’ stairs and out the back alley of the hotel.
America sighed. As amusing as both these handsome men’s attentions were, their relentless male posturing quickly proved tiresome. Her hopes and attentions were focused on a bigger prize. A nine hundred ton freighter moored dockside. When they reached a narrow concourse between a crisscross of streets, she could stand it no longer. “If you two continue to act like smitten schoolboys competing over the headmaster’s daughter, I shall be forced to—” She tried to think of something to threaten with, but these Yard men held all the cards. Except one.
Phaeton’s churlish grin did not help matters. “Forced to what, luv?”
She nailed them both with a sultry look. “Withhold my affection.” She backed away and slowly opened her coat. “The man most likely to receive this gift will be the one who gets down to business.” After a sufficient period of leching she buttoned the coat up to her neck and clarified. “For the rest of the evening, we shall concentrate on my stolen shipping business. Gentlemen?”
Phaeton’s sable eyes narrowed into thin slits.
Dexter swallowed. “The Blue Anchor is just round the corner.”
Several pints washed down a plate of chops and two baskets of fried fish. The hot meal put them all in better temperament, ready for news. Detective Moore went after another pint and returned with word from his informant, Mr. Percy. “Several of Yanky Willem’s men have been spotted in Weippert’s casino—on the canal walk.”
“I know where that is,” America piped up.
Phaeton shushed them both and signaled for Dexter to sit down. He spoke in no more than a whisper. “Excellent news. We can make more of a show of Miss Jones in a saloon dance hall than stuffed away in a grimy dockside pub.”
She spoke up. “I’m to be the focus?”
Phaeton set his mouth in a grim line. “Never believe I relish the prospect of using you as a live decoy, but if all goes well, your presence will serve to roust Yanky Willem and most of his crew out of that ship and scatter them about Portsmouth in search of the enticing Miss Jones.”
Both she and Moore grinned. Dexter leaned further into their small circle. “And while Willem’s men run about town, we will be—”
“Searching the ship.”
“Might be brilliant, if it weren’t so bloody dangerous.” Moore groused a bit more, but his eyes sparkled with excitement.
America set her shoulders back. “How much time will we have, before they start to suspect something?”
Phaeton shook his head. “We can’t count on much more than an hour. Two at most.”
She turned to Moore. “In order to make my claim, how many proofs do I need?”
“Three should do it, witnessed by myself and Phaeton.”
She thought about the size of the ship and the areas she needed to locate and examine. “It’s not enough time.”
Phaeton rose to leave. “It’s going to have to be.”
Unlike the more elegant establishments in London, Portsmouth’s casino turned out to be more of a fancy public house with a stage for musicals and a band for dancing. The gambling hall would be located in the rear of the building, one presumed.
Phaeton made something of a show of removing her coat. A number of heads turned along with a rude gesture and a few lurid queries. “Pay no attention to them.” Phaeton held her firmly by the shoulders. “How many pirates might you recognize on sight, my dove?”
Glancing around the room she lifted her chin. “Very few. And I am not afraid.”
He studied her resolve. “Well then, we shall flush them out of hiding.”
A number of couples assembled on the dance floor as the band struck up a popular military waltz. Phaeton removed his scarf and jacket and tossed all the coats into Moore’s arms. “Hold these.”
“Whatever for?” The detective frowned.
“I am going to take Miss Jones for a spin around the floor. You will station yourself at the door and observe who takes note of the young lady and dashes off toward the harbor.” Moore appeared far from resigned, but obeyed orders.
Phaeton returned to her. “Shall we?”
She hesitated.
“You do the waltz?”
She frowned. “Not this queer jig.”
“Three beats with skips rather than gliding steps.” He grinned that cajoling, winning smile of his. “Come, let me show you.”
Under the brightest chandelier, in the middle of the floor, Phaeton swung her up off the ground and into the waltz. He apparently thought to make a spectacle of them. And damn, if the man wasn’t an accomplished dancer. He led in such a skillful manner, she easily followed the faster paced steps.
The dance featured a hesitation before a turn, and he would lift her up in the air as he completed the rotation. The sudden elevation had the effect of raising her petticoats, which received a great deal of attention from the gents on the sidelines. Otherwise, he led her in lovely circles about the room as she relaxed in his arms.
“Now we will wait for them to show their hand.”
She managed a dainty shrug. “I can’t very well identify pirates while occupied in bawdy saloon dancing.”
“But are you enjoying yourself?” His eyes crinkled as she locked onto his cheerful gaze and leaned into the next turn. She lifted the corners of her mouth. “I am.”
A loud jerk of chairs and a grumble of customers alerted them to several large bodies moving through the casino in a hurried manner. Phaeton tensed slightly as he spun her along the dance floor. She watched him sneak a glance through the couples surrounding them. “I suspect you have been recognized, my dear.”
Her heart thumped an erratic beat inside her chest. “Where are they now?”
Phaeton maneuvered them deeper into a thick group of dancers, and craned his neck. “They’re at the door.”
“Does Inspector Moore see them?” She pressed dry lips back and forth to moisten them. Phaeton lowered his chin in a nod aimed at Dexter.
“Now what?”
His attention returned to her. “We finish our dance, my dove.”
She stepped down hard on his toe. “Ouch.” He winced. “You little virago.”
She chuckled. “Surly, cock-up.”
He pulled her close. “We’ll meet up with Dex outside. First, we need to make this look good, l
ike we’re headed upstairs for a quick tumble.”
Phaeton hauled her off the dance floor, tossed a man half a shilling for a room, and chased her up a flight of stairs. She giggled and carried on, until they reached the end of a long hallway with no exit.
They retraced their steps and found a side door that opened after Phaeton gave it a hard shove. A zigzag of wooden stairs led down to a narrow side yard. The sound of a safety match being struck revealed a spark of light in the dark.
She turned to Phaeton. “Mr. Moore?”
He nodded. “After you, my dove, with the elephantine feet.”
She chuckled softly all the way down the stairs. They found Moore behind a large refuse bin. “Glad you two are having a jolly good time.” Dexter handed over their coats and hats.
Phaeton wound the scarf round his neck. “In which direction did they head?”
“Two of them took off at a run toward the harbor, two others spread out. I suspect one is in the alley behind us and the other is stationed somewhere out front.”
He shrugged into his coat. “Pull your cap low and stay hunched over until we cross the street. If you spy one of the blokes, give us a sign.” He turned to her. “As far as anyone knows, you’re tasting the better part of me in an upstairs room. Keep that pretty head down and don’t fall behind.”
Single file, with Phaeton ahead and Dexter behind her, they snaked their way up the side yard and slipped across the street.
“Up ahead on the corner.” Dexter jogged around her. Things moved rapidly as the two men greeted the lookout and asked for a light. Phaeton knocked the man up against the wall. She had no time to grit her teeth before she heard a head crack against brick. He signaled her to keep watch while he and Moore pulled the half conscious seaman down a narrow arcade of shops. They left him tied and gagged in a dark corner.
“Let’s get to the harbor.”
Dexter nodded, wild-eyed and out of breath. “She’s in the great basin, north of Queen Street.”
“Lead the way, Mr. Moore.”
Shaking off a tremble, she inhaled a deep breath and coughed. Phaeton checked on her. “Are you all right?” She nodded. His arm went around her, gentle and soothing, before he nudged her up ahead. Once again they wound their way through the irregular streets of the port town, keeping to the shadows and away from streetlamps.
Dexter led them along the stone wall of an HMS storehouse and halted. “Round this corner, a number of casks are stacked on a large pallet. When I give the sign, make your way there as quickly and quietly as possible.”
She nodded and Phaeton signaled a thumbs-up.
Just as they were about to make a dash, Moore turned around and herded them backward, into an old carriage passageway. He placed his finger to his lips.
A clatter of footsteps and shouting could mean only one thing, Yanky and his crew had taken the bait. At least she hoped so. She could just make Phaeton out in the deep shadows of the niche. He winked at her.
When the footsteps faded, Phaeton edged his way to the entrance and took a peek. He waved them forward and once again, they made their way to the corner of the building. “Ready?”
She scurried after both men and took up shelter behind a large barrel. The familiar scent of brine and smoked wood made her eyes water. She found a break between casks where she could view the main deck. A watchman passed by the gang plank and made his way aft, past the chimney.
The very sight of her caused America to suck in a breath. A sleek two-masted schooner, the Ruby Star also flaunted a tall smokestack thrust up from her midship. She’d recognize those lines anywhere, despite the fact that the dark crimson hull trim had been freshly repainted marine blue.
“Do you recognize your ship, Miss Jones?” Inspector Moore asked the question, but Phaeton leaned in close to hear the answer.
“I’d wager a hold full of black tea it’s Ruby all right.” She supposed her eyes glistened with a tear or two. “Let’s go aboard.”
Phaeton caught her coattail and pulled her back. “Hold on, there, Miss.” Even when she growled, he smiled rather sweetly. “Dex and I will go aboard and disable the guard. You will wait here until we give a whistle.” Phaeton nodded at Moore. “Ready?”
“Wait.” She grasped his arm. “Check for damage on the far side of the chimney funnel, near the top. A spar let loose in a storm and left a nick on the rim. The lady may have a new coat of paint, but I doubt Yanky went to the expense of fixing a dent.”
Chapter Twenty
PHAETON GRABBED A BELAYING PIN and tapped the guard on the shoulder. “Avast there, Davey Jones.” The pirate swung around. Thwack! The seaman wavered, then crumbled to the ground. Dexter dragged the man behind the funnel while Phaeton searched the unconscious guard and pocketed several useful items. “Yo ho, heave to, a-pirating we go.”
Dex nodded upward. “Take a look above when you get a chance, Long John Silver.”
Phaeton craned his neck. “Thar she be—a good-sized mark near the chimney rim.” He peered around the side of the smokestack and gave a whistle.
The light-footed Miss Jones walked the gangplank like a cat. Monitoring her stealthy progress across the ship, he grinned. Nimble all right, when she wasn’t otherwise occupied stomping his toes. She drew close, and he pulled her behind the funnel. Her eyes were bright with excitement and something more akin to nerve, or courage. Dog’s bollocks, she was appealing. He resisted the urge to toss the wench against the stack and impale her, much like that first night in the Savoy Row. Quashing his insatiable appetite for the young lady, he continued to marvel at just how pleased he was to have her around. “Where to, me beauty?”
“Captain’s cabin below, through the wheelhouse.”
He placed his hands on her waist and swiveled her about. “Make your way carefully; I’m right behind you.” Dex fell in step behind them.
“Keep a tight group.” They scurried aft and slipped into the deck housing. A shaft of moonlight and the hollow tick of a clock permeated the control room. A huge iron ship’s wheel, tipped with brass handles, dominated the space. America waved them past a high desk, covered in nautical charts. When they reached a narrow, spiral ladder, Phaeton caught her arm. “Any crew quarters below?”
She shook her head. “Passenger cabins and captain’s quarters.”
Phaeton positioned her between Dex and himself and took the lead. At the bottom of the stair, he craned his neck fore and aft. No duty guard. He waved her ahead, and she led them to a glossy lacquered door. She lifted a finger to her lips and pointed to a dark rectangular spot on the wood where a name plate had been removed.
Gingerly, she tried the knob. “Locked.”
Phaeton held up an iron ring and dangled a set of keys. “Thought these might come in handy.”
She fumbled through the bunch, fingers trembling. “Dear God, I know these keys.” She fit one to the keyhole and jiggled. The door swung open. A single lantern, low on fuel, sputtered above. Rich dark wood paneling covered the walls of the cabin. America pointed to a built-in secretary. “Second drawer down, there is a false bottom compartment accessed from underneath.”
The desk’s roll-top cover didn’t budge. America bit her lower lip. “Only the captain keeps the key.”
On his knees, Phaeton wedged a knife between the writing surface and cover. He angled the tip and lifted the latch. He nodded to America. She rolled back the slated wood and exposed a bank of small drawers and pigeonholes along the back of the desk.
Phaeton removed the second drawer and turned it upside down. The lantern sputtered a last gasp of light, plunging them into darkness. “Bollocks.” A dim pool of moonlight poured through the porthole. “Dex, have you a torch on you?”
“Right here.” Dex retrieved a long metal tube-shaped device from his coat pocket. He toggled a switch and slapped the gadget against the palm of his hand. “Only, the damn thing won’t—” A beam of light shot across the room, as the torch tumbled to the floor. Several small cylindrical shaped objects roll
ed out of the bottom. “Jeezus, Dex, get them back in before the wires detach and we lose the light.”
Tentatively, Dex picked up the small batteries and tried fitting them back in. Phaeton exhaled. “Come on then, pretend it’s cock alley.”
“Stuff it, Phaeton.”
“I assure you, mine won’t fit.”
America elbowed her way in-between them. “If you’re going to act like schoolboys—” She deftly pushed the two cylinders back into the tube and screwed on the end cap. She pointed the torch at the small storage compartment. Phaeton moved his fingers around the drawer’s edges.
She steadied the beam. “What is this thing, anyhow?”
“Experimental. Electrical light generated by dry cell batteries.” Something shifted under his fingers, and he slid back a wooden peg. The bottom dropped down along with a packet of papers. America angled the circle of light over as Dex untied the stack.
“Several letters here, of a personal nature, written by ... appears to be a lady.” Moore turned over the note paper.
“Abigail.” Her voice, little more than a whisper, faltered. “Captain Jackson Starke’s fiancée.”
Dex looked up from the signature and nodded. “All my affection, Abigail.” He unfolded another loose sheet. “Looks as though this was torn from a journal.”
“12 July 1888.” Dex read on in a low whisper. “Two days out of Rangoon, we were fired upon and boarded by men who took over ship and cargo. I remain locked in this cabin, and do not know what fate lies in store for me. In the event the pirates do not scuttle the Ruby Star, I record here, my experience of these dastardly events. It is my greatest wish this accounting might one day assist in bringing the blackguards to justice.” Dex read on silently for a few more sentences. “If this note is discovered, then rest assured, I am dead. Please tell my mother, sister, and my dear fiancée, Miss Abigail Fisher, they were in my last thoughts.”
The Seduction of Phaeton Black Page 18
