by Rainbow
For one second he’d thought he’d caught a glimpse of something more in them, something like a wary examination, but it vanished so quickly he thought he must have imagined it.
“Miss Seaton?” he prodded when she didn’t answer his last question immediately. “Are you acquainted with Brett?”
“Oh my, yes. Such a fine gentleman,” she gushed. “And so helpful. He’s my banker, you know. Or I suppose you don’t. Of course, he scolds me all the time about my spending.” A sudden surge of mischief overtook her. She wanted to jolt him, to even hurt him for not remembering a small girl. His attention then had meant so much to her, but to him apparently nothing. “But I don’t imagine he approves of you either, Captain,” she trilled. “I mean…well…” She purposely stumbled, watching the sudden chill in his eyes.
But he recovered nicely. “I don’t quite approve of him either, Miss Seaton. Entirely too respectable for my taste. Now I’ve never claimed to be anything but a rascal of the first order.” There was a glint in his eyes that bored into her, and she thought she had better be careful. He wasn’t quite as dense as he first appeared, as she had found most arrogant men to be. And he was arrogant. Everything about him spoke of it.
Quinn turned to the Tennessean, apparently losing interest in Meredith. “Tell me about your horses, sir. I understand you do some racing. Do you have a horse you would recommend betting on?”
After that, the dinner seemed fairly typical to Meredith. Courses of food arrived. Oysters and mussels, ham, chicken, mounds of potatoes swimming in butter, beans and peas and fresh biscuits. A selection of pies followed.
The conversation turned to politics, and Meredith noted that Captain Devereux seemed completely bored with it. He contributed nothing as he leaned back with a glass of brandy while the businessman from Ohio and the planter from Mississippi heatedly argued the merits of Republican John Frémont and Democrat James Buchanan in the upcoming election.
“Slavery’s going to pull this country apart,” Mr. Brown said.
“Not if the damned abolitionists will leave our property alone,” countered the Biloxi planter.
“No one has the right to sell human beings,” Brown said.
“Property, Mr. Brown, property. And because they are valuable property we treat them a sight better than you treat free workers in your factories.”
Meredith only half listened. She knew the arguments. She had heard them a thousand times. But no argument, she knew, would ever quiet Lissa’s cries in her mind. Or her own nightmares, which continued to this day. It had always taken iron control to ignore these conversations until she learned, finally, to block much of them out. She could not change things with words.
“Miss Seaton?”
She looked up, surprised. She had not heard Captain Devereux’s amused drawl.
“I fear we have been boring you and Miss Frazier with all this talk of politics.”
“Oh no. I just love listenin’ to men. I don’t understand it, but it all sounds so…so important.”
Quinn used his fingers to cover the smile on his lips. She was worse than he had thought possible. He might just kill Cam tonight for arousing his interest. Or better yet, he’d condemn Cam to an evening with Miss Seaton.
Although he seldom demanded much from his women, he doubted whether he could tolerate her level of vacuousness. Even if it had been twelve years since he had truly shared a bed with a woman.
Despite the rakish reputation he had cultivated, he had had no opportunity to pursue amorous adventures for eight years. And in the four years he had been back in America, he had had only brief uninvolved encounters. Yet each had been fraught with danger. He could never let the woman see, or feel, his back or ankles, or there would be questions he didn’t want to answer. And then there were even more complicated reasons he didn’t care to explore. So on the few occasions he had allowed himself release he did so nearly fully clothed, and he chose women who would not ask questions and who asked very little in return.
“Don’t you think, Captain…?”
Now he could be accused of inattention, Quinn thought dryly as he tried to pay heed to his guests.
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“That we should protect our property?” said one of the slave hunters. “Your man, for instance, the one who delivered the invitation for dinner…Now he must be worth a lot. Or is he a freeman?”
It was an impertinent question, even for a slave hunter. The others at the table looked embarrassed, but Quinn merely looked disinterested.
“Two thousand dollars to be exact,” he said, the answer almost as tasteless as the question.
“And you’re risking taking him up North?”
“There’s the Fugitive Slave Act,” Quinn said carelessly. “And he tried to run once. He won’t do it again.”
The pure callousness of his tone sent a shiver down Meredith’s back. She remembered the man’s limp and she wondered if that was the result of an escape attempt. Looking at Devereux’s cold blank eyes, she suddenly felt it was possible. Any attraction she might have felt for the gambler, even the childhood memory, disappeared, and only a chill remained.
“I’m afraid we’re distressing our lady guests,” Devereux said smoothly. “I think a change of subject is in order.”
One of the Carrolls flushed. “Beg your pardon, miss,” he mumbled.
It was John, Meredith remembered. The other was Ted. She would sketch their likenesses as soon as she returned to her room. She could pass the sketches on to the Parson near Vicksburg, and he would see them distributed throughout the Underground Railroad.
She jerked up as if startled. “I’m sorry, I’ve been daydreamin’, I fear. I suppose it’s been the long evenin’ and all these fascinatin’ politics. My little ol’ brain can just absorb so much. If you will excuse my aunt and myself…Captain Devereux, and gentlemen.”
Meredith rose, her aunt following with a relieved sigh, and all the men stood as one, murmuring their farewells. She nodded her acknowledgment and they left the room, leaving Captain Devereux studying them with a strange gleam in his eyes.
He glanced around the table and noticed that no one else seemed to have paid mind to the woman’s last sentence. He was the only one, apparently, who realized he had been excluded from the word “gentlemen,” despite the presence of the two slave hunters.
He wondered for a moment whether it had been deliberate, and then decided it had not. Miss Seaton didn’t appear to have the gumption or intelligence to fashion so subtle a barb. It was, he decided, his imagination again.
“Now who,” he said, “would like to indulge in a friendly game of cards?”
Chapter 2
“I HAVE NEVER been so humiliated in my life,” Aunt Opal said. “Those men. Can you imagine a Devereux inviting them to his table? I couldn’t eat a bite.”
She had consumed considerably more than a bite, in fact, but Meredith refrained from the observation.
“It was rather…bad taste,” she agreed.
“Bad taste indeed,” Opal huffed. “I’ll tell his brother about it, you can be sure. And I’ll not eat at that table again. And I’ll not allow you to do it either.”
“I have no intentions of doing so.” Meredith soothed her aunt. “I was just as shocked as you.”
“Well you didn’t sound like it, talking to them like they were…were…decent people.”
“Remember, Aunt, that Brett Devereux controls my trust fund. I didn’t dare be impolite.”
“Humph…”
“It’s all over now,” Meredith said. “I’ll send Daphne to your room to help you undress.”
“And that girl…you don’t know a thing about her.”
Meredith sighed. “She seems willing enough.”
“I know but she’s…well, almost white. She’ll probably just take off like the others.”
I hope so. The words were locked inside her, but she thought them nonetheless. Both Daphne and that man of the captain’s. The thought brou
ght back Quinlan Devereux’s dark countenance and mocking smile. How could someone so handsome be so cruel?
But she reassured her aunt, and led her to the stateroom adjoining her own. Despite the older woman’s protestations, Meredith always insisted on two rooms, claiming her aunt’s proximity was chaperonage enough. Now Meredith shared her cabin only with Daphne, who slept on a cot.
Meredith needed her privacy. Required it. It was the only time she could really relax and think. Even with Daphne, she had to be on guard. Now she would have a few moments alone while Daphne attended to her aunt’s needs.
When she opened the door to her cabin the girl was waiting inside. Meredith had ordered food for her earlier, but the plates appeared barely touched. She was still eating little more than a bird, drat it. No matter what she did, Meredith couldn’t seem to tempt her into a better appetite. She was already so slender, so small. Daphne now curtsied nervously, then rushed next door to do Meredith’s bidding.
Meredith sighed deeply, relishing the silence. She was able to unhook her own heavy dress, and she slipped quickly into a nightdress and dressing gown. She then unpinned her hair, brushing the long golden tresses as her mind wandered back to the strange scene at dinner.
Why did Captain Devereux have to be so confounded attractive? And so much of an enigma? A dangerous one, she reminded herself. He was probably every bit as ruthless as his reputation deemed him to be, and he obviously had few, if any, human feelings. What had happened in those missing years that had changed him so? What had made those laughing eyes into such closed ones?
She wished suddenly that she’d paid more attention to the rumors about the scandal surrounding him. Some said the law had been involved. Some said a woman. What was certain was that Captain Devereux had disappeared for a number of years, and in that time both his father and older brother had died while waiting for the return of the long missing middle son.
Well, it didn’t really matter. She would be home in a few days, and she would probably never see the man again. She would take great pains to avoid the Lucky Lady in the future. There were certainly plenty of other boats.
She quickly made notes on the dinner conversation and on the Carroll brothers, then slipped into bed. She pretended to be asleep when Daphne came in and settled quietly on the cot.
But she couldn’t sleep. She kept seeing those shuttered blue eyes of Captain Devereux and wondering what terrible things they’d seen. And much as she tried, she couldn’t stem the swell of bitter disappointment that swept over her as she realized her knight’s silver armor was only rusted tin.
Meredith woke to the sound of her own scream. The nightmare again.
Miss Merry! Miss Merry! The terror was as vivid as it had been so many years ago, as real. But as the cries had increased in volume with each nightmare, the voice had also grown in age, until it had become a woman’s voice.
I have to help, Meredith thought desperately. I must. She reached out, and then she was falling…and the cries rose to a crescendo in her ears.
“Miss Meredith, Miss Meredith.”
She felt gentle hands shake her, and the voice was soft, not the hopeless wail that shattered the peace of her night. Gradually, her heart slowed its frantic pace, and she opened her eyes.
Daphne was standing above her, her face creased with worry in the flickering light of the oil lamp she held. “Are you all right, Miss Meredith?”
Meredith wasn’t altogether sure. Her body was rigid with tension and soaked with sweat. She put her hand to her cheek and felt the moisture, and knew she had been crying.
She swallowed painfully and put out a hand to Daphne, reassuring her. “It was just a…bad dream. I’m all right now. Go back to sleep.”
Daphne hesitated. She had only been with her new mistress three days and she still wasn’t sure what was expected of her. She was grateful that Miss Meredith had rescued her from the slave jail and auction, but she had learned painfully not to expect a great deal from those who owned her. She had trusted once. She could not trust again.
She knew only one thing now. Obedience. So she nodded and went back to her cot and lay down, grateful she was sleeping in this comfortable cabin rather than the slave pens below where many of the servants spent the night. She had spent time there, in another boat, when being taken to New Orleans for sale. Miss Meredith seemed kind enough, but Daphne knew she was subject to her mistress’s every whim. And she knew nothing of the household to which she now belonged. She trembled as the future yawned so terribly frightening in front of her.
Meredith could almost taste the girl’s fear across the room and wished with all her heart she could do something to alleviate it. She had made tentative efforts, but there was so much distrust in Daphne. Meredith would have to take one step at a time.
She waited until she heard Daphne’s breathing relax and knew she was asleep. Then she rose soundlessly, carefully, and went to the window of the cabin. It was near dawn, the deep black of night was fading into a softer gray. The sun would not be far behind. She knew she would be able to sleep no more and she felt a great need to be completely alone, to taste the fresh air of morning and watch the sun rise.
She brushed her hair, leaving it down and free, and slipped on a petticoat and plain gown, not bothering with the stays. She would wear her cloak. She doubted if anyone other than a few tired members of the crew would be awake to see her at this hour.
Meredith blew out the oil lamp and slipped out quietly, passing several cabins along the narrow passageway. The Lucky Lady was like a ghost ship now, empty and silent. She opened the door to the deck, relishing the first whisper of a breeze.
The deck was wet; it must have rained during the night, although she had heard nothing. Only a few clouds remained above, and those moved quickly along. It was August, but the air felt fresh and intoxicating. Seeing no others on deck, Meredith shook off the hood of her cloak, and let the wind ruffle her hair as she looked east toward the rising sun. Lining both sides of the river were great oaks, and the first tentative rays of light shimmered over the drops of moisture on their leaves. The sky itself was awash in pale gold, then pink, and she exclaimed with awe as a rainbow appeared, its beautiful muted colors reaching down to tease the wide river. It was almost as lovely as the one she had captured on canvas months before, the one she had sent North for sale.
The rainbow of promise. She swallowed, the familiar lump catching in her throat. How meaningful those words had become to her. She had first heard them years ago in Cincinnati when she had visited Sally Grimes, her best friend at the convent school. Meredith had just finished school and her brother had been eager enough to get rid of her. He would not have been so pleased, she thought with some amusement, if he knew that Sally’s grandparents were secret abolitionists, and she was visiting the very foundation of the Underground Railroad.
In Ohio, Meredith had attended a lecture by a former slave and read many narratives of fugitive escapes. Most moving of all was one by Frederick Douglass, who equated freedom to the “rainbow of promise.”
Suddenly, her life had a purpose. Consumed by memories of Lissa and the need to do something, Meredith became more and more involved, particularly when she reached twenty-one and found she had money of her own. She was not a conductor on the Railroad; she did not shelter or shepherd escaping slaves on the way north, but she visited plantations, her painting giving her the excuse to wander about and talk freely with slaves. When she discovered those with the desire and will to escape, she gave them money, a compass, and names of stations along the Railroad. Some lines went overland, some by river, and the fugitives were passed from one conductor to another as they went north, mostly through Kentucky, Indiana, Ohio, and across Lake Erie to Canada. Meredith knew the names of some of the stations, but few of the conductors. The entire network was safer that way.
The rainbow was slowly fading, and Meredith noted the increased activity on deck. She replaced the hood over her hair and reluctantly walked back to her cabin—and
back into her stifling role.
Quinn played poker until six in the morning. The Carroll brothers left hours earlier after losing nearly everything they had. Only the Tennessee horseman and another professional gambler had remained at the table.
Quinn was a superb poker player, partially because he had complete control over his facial expression. He knew just how to make it work for him. When he was bluffing, he would allow the smallest fraction of a smile, and those who had not played with him before would toss in all but the best hands. And he knew human nature. He could detect weaknesses within seconds of making an acquaintance.
He had, on several occasions, been accused of cheating. That had not dismayed him; he had simply ordered the accusers off the boat. He always refused to fight, which, along with his refusal to race the Lucky Lady, gave him somewhat a reputation of a coward. Although it galled his sense of honor and pride, it nonetheless reinforced his image as a man without principles or values, an image invaluable in his work. But he never cheated. He did not need to. He was a skilled player, and he generally knew when luck was running with him and when lady luck had abandoned him.
Presently, she had left him in the small hours of the morning…after the Carrolls had left. The Tennesseean was a very happy man.
Quinn shrugged off the loss. He won much more often than not, and the losers would be horrified to discover where a great percentage of the money went. He smiled grimly at the thought. God, but he was tired. He paused, enjoying the cool air of the morning before retiring to his cabin on the upper deck. He had just checked with Jamison, the pilot, and all was well. Jamison, a dour Scotsman, practically ran the boat and that suited them both. The Scotsman needed, and wanted, little interference from the owner who called himself captain.
