“Saffron,” she surmised. “How unusual. And expensive,” she added.
Chef Louis beamed at her. “You cook?” he asked.
She nodded. “What are you making to go with this sauce?”
“Crispy chicken,” he said. “I’ll add a little roasted garlic.”
“Some cardamom,” she offered.
He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Gives it a magical taste that no one can figure out.”
“Yes,” he nodded, smacking his lips once as if tasting it in his mind. “I can imagine that perfectly. Thank you,” he added.
Rose smiled.
“Your man is at the Navy yard now. He works there.”
Her man? Not anymore.
“Thank you, Chef.”
As she exited, she considered her plan. At that hour, the streets were jammed with traffic, and her horse and carriage would go nowhere fast. With nearly 190 streetcars threading their way throughout the city every hour, however, one was certain to be going her way.
Yet which way was the quickest? She could go left along Winter Street and back toward the Park Street Station. At the last moment, however, she turned right and headed toward Washington Street. Within minutes, she saw a streetcar marked No. 296 with “Roxbury and Charlestown” emblazoned on the dasher. Thank goodness!
Rose clambered aboard, nodding to the conductor before taking a vacant seat. The car wound its way through the financial district along Milk Street, through Post Office Square, and along Congress to Adams Square, before rejoining Washington Street. She sighed in frustration at the traffic and the number of vehicles of every type. What’s more, every few minutes it seemed, a pedestrian ran in front of the trolley.
Soon, they crossed Haymarket Square and passed the Northern Depots, turning right onto Causeway Street and left onto Beverly Street, all the while picking up people and dropping others off. Rose watched the conductor record each and every passenger’s fare that he collected on the mounted register.
At last, they crossed the Warren Avenue drawbridge and passed through City Square onto Chelsea Street. Rose stood up impatiently as they traveled along the road bordering the shipyard. She disembarked at the corner of Bunker Hill Street and found herself trotting in haste the short distance to the Charlestown shipyard’s main gate, feeling anxious as the late day sun sunk lower. Soon the yard would close, and she might miss him again.
The yard was enormous, like a small town. How would she ever locate Finn?
At the gate, a young man in a naval uniform came up to her.
“May I help you, miss?”
Rose didn’t want to mention Finn’s name. She hesitated.
“Yes, I’m trying to find,” she hesitated, racking her brain for the name of the master builder Finn had mentioned, “Mr. Gilbert.” He would know where Finn was.
“Yes, miss. Is he expecting you?”
“No,” Rose said. “Yet it is quite important that I speak with him.”
After a moment’s hesitation while he seemed to consider, the guard nodded.
“Master Builder Gilbert is normally in the Muster House.” With that the young, straight-backed man marched off, and she had no choice except to follow him. The place was bustling with workers, and a few times, someone strode between them carrying a long skein of rope or a 2-by-6, and she nearly lost sight of her guide.
At last, he slowed his step in front of a rounded building that reminded her of a squat turret. Taking her inside, the guard led her up the stairs to the third floor.
“He’s there, miss.” He gestured to the oldest man in the room. “Master Builder Gilbert. This lady is here to see you, sir.”
Rose faltered, as a mustachioed man with graying hair looked up from his desk, surveying her. As he slowly got to his feet, her head felt light.
What on earth was she to say to him now? That she knew Finn Bennet was alive? That she thought this man’s incompetence had helped send men to their deaths? Perhaps she should counterfeit that she needed a ship built.
“I was sent by The Boston Cooking School,” were the words that finally came out of her mouth. She nearly rolled her own eyes when she heard herself.
A couple of the other men in the room snickered.
Gilbert’s eyebrows shot up. “On what business?” he asked, without any invitation for her to sit down.
In for a penny, in for a pound, Rose thought. “As you may or may not know, we have a nutrition program at the school. We are studying how sailors fare on . . . well, on sailors’ fare. If you get my meaning.”
The men laughed again. One said, “Gilbert, she wants to know if our boys stay healthy on Navy chow.”
“Why would you want to talk to me?” he asked.
Quite right. Think, think, think. “We believe men need more vegetables in their diets. To stay healthy. Naturally, we’d pickle them for long journeys. The vegetables, not the men.” Rose laughed nervously.
To a man, they looked at her as if she had three heads.
She continued, “Naturally, we are wondering if you can design space in your vessels for more . . . um, pickle jars.”
“Are you serious?” Gilbert spluttered. “Look, Miss—”
“Malloy,” she provided unthinkingly and then cringed. How stupid of her. However, if he recognized her name, he gave no outward sign.
“We are very busy here, Miss Malloy. However we aren’t designing new ships for the Navy at this juncture. No galleys, no storage, no shelves for your pickled vegetables.”
Rose was about to turn away, when he added, “However, I’ll get my assistant to take you to the Stores Sergeant. I’m sure he’ll be most interested in discussing the sailors’ nutritional needs with you.”
She nearly protested, but then, why not? At least she would still be able to search for Finn.
“Wait here a moment,” Gilbert instructed her before vanishing down the flight of stairs with more haste than she thought someone of his age could muster.
Rose merely smiled at the men, who went back to their work, and then she waited in silence. In a very few minutes, another man arrived, not dressed in a uniform as her first guide had been. Instead, he wore civilian clothing as did so many of the workers at the yard.
“Right this way, miss,” he said kindly. “I’ve been told to take you to Sergeant Morrison to talk about supplies.”
“Yes, thank you.” Rose accompanied him down two flights of stairs and out of the building. They crossed from one side of the yard to the other, traversing the main thoroughfare, and eventually, they ended up in front of a brick building without signage.
“The Stores Sergeant is in here, miss. You’ll have to meet with him by yourself. I have to get back to work.” He opened the door for her and stood back.
So, she wasn’t going to be left alone to wander the yard in search of her husband. Rose sighed. Perhaps she could leave the Stores Sergeant quickly and head out on a hunt by herself.
“Thank you,” she offered and looked inside. It was a dimly lit antechamber, from what she could see, and quite empty. Perhaps someone had been there recently, for bits of sawdust circled in the air, caught in the late-afternoon sunlight.
“Right in there, miss,” her guide urged.
Rose took a step inside. “Sergeant?” she called out but was met by silence.
“I don’t think he’s here.” She started to turn exactly as the door closed behind her.
“How rude!” Putting her hand on the knob, Rose found it to be locked. Oh dear!
“Sergeant?” she called out again hopefully.
Nothing and no one responded to her. She took a few hesitant steps forward until she was in the doorway of the next room, peering into the absolute darkness beyond. Considering the rest of the yard was bustling, it was unsettling to be in a confined space of stillness. What was going on?
Rose cleared her throat glancing again at the door behind her. However, before she could say another word, something that felt like a sack came over her
head. She shrieked but a hand clamped over her mouth, pressing the cloth that smelled like grain against her face, and a strong arm snaked over her chest, pinning her arms to her sides.
She was silenced and subdued, mad as a wet cat, and quite terrified.
She half-expected to have her throat slit or to be knocked unconscious. Instead, her silent captor pushed her forward at a slow shuffle. When they reached the other side of the room, she hear another door being opened, and then she was shoved by a strong hand placed in the middle of her back.
Rose fell unceremoniously to her knees at the same time that she heard the heavy door behind her grate closed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Immediately, Rose yanked the sack from her head and gasped at the impermeable darkness surrounding her. There was not a ray of light anywhere. She didn’t feel brave enough to stand up, so she crawled in the direction from which she thought she’d entered — hopefully, toward the door. Perhaps her abductor had gone to get a rope to secure her hands and feet and would return momentarily.
Suddenly, all of Finn’s warnings became very real. She’d been foolish to come to the shipyard.
Crawling forward slowly, hampered by her skirt which kept getting caught under her knees, Rose eventually reached out and touched a wall, cool and firm. Unfortunately, not a door. Working her way up the wall, using her hands to inch higher and higher, eventually she stood upright.
Her pulse slowed a little from gaining her new vantage point. Whatever it was, it was preferable to being in the middle of the enclosure and not knowing what was beside her.
All at once, she heard a sound, a scraping of heels on the floor, down to her left and not too far away. She wasn’t alone. Perhaps that should have calmed her. Instead, it terrified her.
Friend or foe? Man or beast?
Of course not a beast, she scolded her wildly running thoughts, and if not a friend, at least a co-prisoner so certainly not a foe.
“Hello,” she said into the pitch black, her voice coming out in a raspy whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Is someone there?”
“Mmph,” she heard. Someone was trying to speak but couldn’t. Then more scraping sounds and frantic movements came out of the darkness.
“I know you’re there and restrained,” she said as calmly as she could. “I shall come to you.”
With her heart pounding again, she shuffled slowly in the direction of the noise, keeping one hand on the brick wall beside her. Then something touched her head, and she shrieked, ducking and waving her hands above her head. Immediately, she thought of bats and other creepy creatures, yet her hands touched only ropes hanging.
Still, it unnerved her that something might sweep across her face, so she got down on her hands and knees once more and crawled toward the noises.
“It was nothing,” she said, speaking to whomever she was approaching, the sound of her own voice keeping her calm. “Only a rope touched me.”
“Mmph,” came again, closer this time.
Reaching out a hand, Rose touched a booted foot, then another. She ran her hands up the legs, man’s legs, realizing they were bound with rope, tied together securely. She didn’t hesitate in moving closer, feeling her way up to someone sitting, leaning back against the wall, her fingers on his stomach and chest before finally brushing across a mouth bound by a rag. This, she untied, already knowing who it was.
Rose tugged off the gag and ran her fingers over Finn’s cheeks.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, nearly kissing him, so glad was she to not be alone in the darkness.
“Just my pride,” he said, his face inches from hers and utterly invisible. “Are you?”
She shook her head then realized he couldn’t see her response.
“No, only frightened half to death. Who did this?”
“I don’t know. Gilbert, most likely. Quickly, please. My hands are tied behind my back. See if you can work the knots loose. And hurry. I have no idea how long we have, but we don’t want to be here when whoever locked us in returns.”
“What is happening?” Rose asked, working as quickly as she could in the dark to free his hands.
“I’ll explain when we’re somewhere safe. Tell me how you came to be here.”
“I came looking for you,” she said, hearing him swear softly at her admission.
“God, I wish you hadn’t.”
She started to bristle at his words, pausing in her actions, and he urged her to concentrate.
“Come on, love, keep at it. I only meant that I thought you were safely far from here.”
Rose continued to struggle with the knots at his wrists. They were expertly tied as only a seaman could do. Eventually, however, she worked them loose though it seemed like hours had passed when she finally managed to free his hands.
Even in the dark, Finn made quick work of the rest of his bindings around his legs, while she pressed her hands against the firm brick and slowly stood up once again. Tentatively, she made her way along the wall at his back, seeking a door.
Having lost all sense of direction, she didn’t know if she was going back the way she’d first entered or farther into the building. She came to some crates, which impeded her progress until she felt her way around them, and continued until she reached a corner.
“Rose,” Finn’s voice came out of the blackness, comforting her.
“Yes?”
“I’m nearly free,” he said.
“I haven’t found a door nor window yet,” she told him.
After another few minutes of silence, she felt the wall change from brick to plaster and surmised that she was touching an interior wall. In another moment, she felt a doorframe and then a handle.
“A door! I think it goes farther into the building though, not outside.”
“Keep talking or humming or something,” Finn ordered
Rose began to hum. In the darkness, with her senses heightened, she heard him approaching. Yet when his hand suddenly brushed her shoulder, she cried out before she could stop herself. When he took firm hold of her upper arm, she wanted to sag against his warm and comforting form. Instead, she gritted her teeth. She would be strong, courageous even, and help get them out of the mess they were in.
Rose heard Finn rattle the door handle. Then all was silent, except for a brushing sound above her head.
“What are you doing?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
He seemed to pause in his endeavors. “Why are you whispering?”
And she felt him give her arm a squeeze.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice still soft. “Maybe because I’m barely breathing.”
Against all reason, he chuckled softly. “Well, keep breathing. I don’t want to have to carry you out of here.”
She couldn’t help smiling into the darkness.
“Aha,” he exclaimed.
“What?” she asked, and then felt his hand drop from her arm.
“There’s a key above the frame.” Finn paused, scrabbling at the handle. “In case anyone gets locked in, I expect. Or maybe the key’s been here since the place was built and no one remembered it. First place I always look,” he added. “Maybe it’s a Maine notion.”
There were more noises as he fumbled to get the key into the lock. Then, as lovely as her sister Sophie’s music to her ears, Rose heard the click of the tumblers as they turned.
Finn eased the door open, and what seemed to be blinding light shone through the opening.
As she blinked and looked past him, she realized the bright light was merely the last rays of the sun disappearing over the western part of the city and coming in through the side of ill-fitting window shades in the next room.
“I’d rather go back than farther inside,” Rose said, still keeping her voice quiet.
Finn didn’t speak at first, then he looked behind him, with the sunlight illuminating the confines of their makeshift prison.
Rose turned back, too. Another door was in the opposite wall, ob
viously the way she’d come in. Finn’s ropes lay discarded in the middle of the small chamber. More ropes hung from beams and a few storage crates lined one wall.
“Which way?” she asked.
At that precise moment, they heard footsteps and the unmistakable sound of a key in the outer door.
Without a word, Finn grabbed her hand and hauled her into the next chamber. As he closed the door swiftly behind them and locked it, she heard the other door into their prison slam open.
“Finn,” she exclaimed as a bolt of fear slashed through her.
Again, he took her hand securely in his, and in the next instant, they were running across the floor of a small store room and out the other side into a narrow alley between two buildings. Those in pursuit would have to go back the way they came and around the structure, buying their prey a little time.
Finn clearly had a destination in mind. Without hesitation, he dragged her hell-bent across the gray granite of the yard, now deserted of any workers. She surmised it had taken her at least an hour to untie him! They continued across some short-cropped grass, across mud, too, until Rose thought she would rather drop and give herself up than take another step.
When they reached a massive wrought iron door, she looked up and realized where they were. The Ropewalk — the longest granite building in the entire United States.
Finn heaved open the door and dragged her inside before closing it quietly behind them. For a second, he paused, giving her a chance to catch her breath. The pungent smell of the tarred yarns, the oiled machinery, and the hemp was all encompassing and momentarily made Rose’s eyes water.
Between heaving great breaths of air into her lungs, she asked, “How on earth did you know about—?”
“This is where I’ve been working,” he told her. “It seemed safer to hide out here than to risk running across the yard and getting shot.”
“But surely there are people out there who can help us.”
“If someone wants to, they can shoot from the cover of any number of buildings while we try to make it from here to the gate. Whoever nabbed you could say you were a trespasser and that they thought I was, too. The fact that I’m employed here wouldn’t be discovered until after we were both quite dead.” Finn shook his head. “No, we can’t trust anyone out there.”
An Inconceivable Deception Page 30
