Kate or her mother, perhaps? Even Standish? Some other player they should now have to find?
She always traveled with these journals; he realized that now. These were Kate’s life, set down in three volumes. He stacked them one atop the other, then noticed the slight difference in the binding of the family journal. He examined the back cover. There was a subtle bulge. Inside, he peeled the backing just a bit to revel a slit. He used the tip of his knife to pry it slightly open.
There was a sheet of paper. He worked it out and unfolded it. It was the map he had seen the first night with Kate. The map that Dr. Llewellyn said was written in blood. He studied it a moment, and then flipped through the family journal once more.
There was a correlation between dates and coordinates: births, deaths, weddings—all written in the third hand.
Latitude, longitude?
Time and place?
He stepped to his charts to double check, but he was already quite sure. These places in France were a long way from Bordeaux.
Quiberon . . . in Brittany.
The Royalist cause had already been smashed there and not long ago.
There were also small pinpoints just inside the Spanish border. Places to meet? She had gone to France. She had met her mother’s cousin, Louis Dumars, in Bordeaux and possibly Paris—with the assistance of Ambrose Standish? Or maybe that’s what the man was trying to find out too.
Whatever the case, Kate must have been in danger from the man all along.
Sir Edward fought back his anger.
There were further notes on vineyards in France and the art of growing wine. Some maps were drawn to show the best location for types of grapes—different grapes made different wines. It was a confirmation, a sort of key. Could they be interpreted as something more? Most people probably would not notice, but then most people were not given his present assignment.
He thought for a moment, and then continued.
There were notes on the wine itself, but he put that down as society folly. Wine was wine. He enjoyed a glass, but didn’t believe that it breathed or sang or had an attitude. He left the book open as he thought and studied his maps, but these notes seemed to be innocent enough.
But the phrases were already familiar, for he knew them from speaking with Sir Hugh.
It didn’t take him long to realize that the man Kate met in France was the same man Vice-Admiral Sir Hugh Tobin was mourning. A British spy of sorts, though Sir Hugh had thought of him as more. The man working in France and Spain for the efforts of peace was Louis Dumars. Had Kate known? Surely Ambrose Standish had. Was there more to the story?
Too many questions still remained in his mind, and he was glad he spoke with the captains of the merchantmen first. They had room for her passage, but he wanted to keep Kate Senlis aboard. They obliged him and told a good tale for their excuse not to take her. He hadn’t counted on the other two women refusing to leave her as well.
Sir Edward rubbed his forehead; it was beginning to ache. He thought perhaps Sir Hugh had been right: he was good at this game . . . and that made his head hurt all the more.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 38 - Uncle Lewis
In three days, they took two other sails. They were small French merchantmen carrying rice and cotton from Louisiana. Mr. Tyler took command of the two with only Marines taken with him to make sure the French-speaking crews complied with his wishes. He asked the captain for the assignment, and he would sail them to the nearest British port.
Evelyn was to go with him, but her farewell wasn’t easy. Kate knew that Evelyn had grown fond of Mr. Tyler, and that she wanted to go. But she also had some sense of loyalty here. In the end, as master of their three-women crew of the Red Wind, Kate ordered her to go.
Evelyn had laughed at that, and then gave a weak salute. Still, it was a tearful farewell as she left them. Even Fiya was silent at the parting.
Kate didn’t have time to brood. Early the next morning, another sail was sighted. It hung on the horizon, clipping at such a steady pace that the Stalwart had to make an effort to chase her.
When Sir Edward made out the ship’s colors, he felt apprehensive. But anyone running the blockade was susceptible for action—that included American vessels. The name that he read on the back of the merchantman was familiar. But he couldn’t place when or where.
“The Delaware,” he said under his breath.
“Pardon, sir?” Mr. Murray said.
The captain ignored him and called down to the bosun, “Ease off, we will catch her soon enough. I was not planning on ramming her.”
“Aye, captain,” the man called up.
They caught her all right, but the Delaware wasn’t giving up easily. The Stalwart had fired warning shots, more than usual, but the ship would not stand down. Quite the opposite, it opened its own gun ports and fired warning shots back at the frigate.
Since many merchantmen had only rail-mounted swivel guns, it took them by surprise. Still, it was no match for the frigate. The Stalwart would sustain some damage, Sir Edward knew, but there was little doubt it would win in the end.
“Why all the cannon, does it not subtract from the amount of cargo they may haul?” Mr. Murray said.
“Aye, the more cannon, the less cargo—simple enough rule. I suspect this vessel probably served a double purpose, and has seen some action in the colonial war,” another officer said. “Probably keeps the guns because they make a habit of trading in unfriendly waters.”
Sir Edward was watching the merchantman through his spyglass. He lowered it, thinking deeply, planning his strategy.
Finally, he said, “Very well, gentlemen, I think we have shown good manners enough.”
The Stalwart prepared for decisive action. Men moved like ants, swarming to their positions—beating to quarters, then waiting for their orders to attack. Sir Edward felt a twinge of regret. This was a ship from her country, and Kate would not take this well.
He sighed, but gave the order.
The cannons roared full bore at the Delaware, but she must have anticipated the cause of the lull, and turned quickly into the wind.
The first full round did no damage for most of them missed and the rest glanced off the hard wood curves as if the balls had been a little girl’s stones.
It was a good bit of maneuvering for both captain and ship, but it was only a matter of time, Sir Edward knew. The gun crews of the frigate were already preparing the next round as the ship swung around to their leeward side.
By then, Kate had shown up on the deck to see what was happening. Sir Edward thought to order her below, but perhaps it was best that she see the thing done.
The cannon fire was deafening. But as they pulled up to closer quarters, the Stalwart was hit by a full cannonade on its windward side.
Sir Edward spun around to see two other ships. Both seemed the same class as the Delaware. Their gun ports were open and bearing close on the frigate. He could see their colors plainly. They were American, though he could not read their names for their angle.
For merchantmen, they were very well armed, and taken together all three were a match for the Stalwart. But a seasoned crew on a frigate, a ship of battle, was bound to win unless the captain did something foolish. He must disable them quickly before they could pick off his capacity bit by bit.
He scanned the horizon for the Red Wind, but the corsair was too far behind to be seen. Part of his crew was on that ship, but only a skeleton force. Not enough to maneuver very well, not enough to work the corvette’s cannons. But it could sail between the cannonade of the American vessels, sheltering the Stalwart while the frigate saw to other business.
Sir Edward’s orders fell loud and quick and sure. He gave no notice to the women on board. They had to come second to the ship and his crew.
Dr. Llewellyn was on deck now, attending to the care of the first fallen. “Captain, should I take the women below?” he called up.
“Blast, yes.”
But Kate slipped
past the doctor and rushed to the captain. Fiya was close by her side.
“What are you doing?” she yelled above the noise of battle.
“My duty, Madam. Follow the surgeon below.”
Dr. Llewellyn reached them by then and held out his hand to Kate. The two ships on the windward fired another round. A split second later, the Delaware fired the same, and the frigate was caught in a raking crossfire.
Fiya swore, and covered her head from the splinters of wood flying by. Sir Edward reached to grab Kate and pushed her towards the surgeon.
Dr. Llewellyn yelled, “Come with me Kate, Fiya. It is not safe up here. You can help me see to the wounded below.”
Quick as a cat, Kate broke away and ran to the railing. She slipped off her boots, was up and over the rail, and swimming towards the two merchantmen before you could count three. It took only a moment for those two American ships to fall silent. After their signal, so did the vessel to the Stalwart’s lee.
“What? Are they surrendering?” called Mr. Murray.
The captain read the signals in his glass. “No, they signal truce. Cease fire—damned fool woman.”
With the maneuvering for better cannon shots, he had caught the names of the other two vessels: The Narragansett and the Kiowa. They were the ships of the Senlis family line—Kate’s ships, Kate’s family. He felt sick in his gut.
Fiya was smiling when she sauntered past. She stopped here and there to see to the wounded—none bad—and took over the orderly conveyance of the men down below.
Dr. Llewellyn leaned over the rail to find Kate in the sea. She was still swimming towards the two American ships. He glanced to Edward Lindsay. The captain was quite gray in the face, and the surgeon thought he had never seen Edward Lindsay so angry.
Mr. Murray called out, “Ship to aft.”
There was another vessel approaching at full sail. The Stalwart could take on three merchantmen like these and win on the chance that some of those could be damaged first. But it had little hope of succeeding with four of this class—especially with part of her crew on the Red Wind.
Still, Sir Edward fought back the urge to continue the battle. The turmoil in his mind raged clearly on his face. “What do we have here? We are at truce, and they bring up reinforcements” he said, through clenched teeth. “Blast and bloody hell.”
“Captain, you can not fire, they signaled truce,” the surgeon said.
“See to your business, Dr. Llewellyn.”
The doctor hesitated, but did as he was ordered.
One of the American ships launched a boat. They rowed out to meet Kate about half way between. When she got into the jolly, she stood up and waved to the American vessels. The men along those rails started cheering. A man in the boat grabbed her by the arm and made her sit down.
“Captain, what should we do?” Mr. Murray said.
“We are under truce. We wait, Mr. Murray.”
The words came out with such a growl that the midshipman backed away. Sir Edward went back to his spyglass. The rowboat was signaling for a parley. He called for the signal to agree. They would meet on the Stalwart.
The last ship had made their position by now. It sailed between the frigate and the Delaware. It was not a merchantman as the others, after all. It was clearly a ship of war. It bore the Stars and Stripes, but under it waved an Irish flag as well.
It was the Shawnee, and more heavily armed than the merchantmen, which might account for its slower progress, even with their cargo. Accouterments of war were heavy: cannon, shot, powder, hand weapons, Marines—especially if they also carried supplies for the others’ reinforcements.
Perhaps it was well that they were at truce, for the battle might still have been won, but at much greater cost. Though the odds were now stacked well against him, Sir Edward knew he would have fought on anyway.
Luck only got you so far; skill got you the rest of the way to victory. But there was no sense in tempting the fates with foolishness and pride. Sir Edward gave order to see the boat alongside. Then he forced his jaw to loosen just a bit.
“Mr. Murray, help our guests aboard if you please.”
Three men from the boat climbed up first.
Sir Edward did not look at Kate as she stood in the boat below, but only at the man before him. This man wore a colonial uniform Sir Edward knew, because he had seen them before in the colonial war. The uniform was old, and probably no longer commissioned, but worn on proud shoulders all the same.
The man saluted. Sir Edward returned the same, then noticed the two men behind the American captain. Those men were watching Kate’s progress up the rope net ladder. As soon as her head came up over the rail, they both reached down to grab at her arms and yanked her up and over the rail without touching it at all. She laughed as she flew, and they did the same.
The American captain spoke to her first. “You’re a foolish girl, Katie. In fact, quite a damned fool at that.”
“So you have clearly stated,” she said, wringing the water from her skirts.
“I wanted to say it in front of this man, just so he’d know that we had something in common.”
Sir Edward bowed slightly in his appreciation. Kate pulled at the seaweed in her hair. The older American tried to hide his smile.
“Welcome aboard,” Sir Edward said, and the American sailors bowed slightly too.
Then the older man stuck out his hand. “Captain Lewis Senlis, at your service, sir. And to whom shall I offer my apologies and my greetings.”
“Captain Sir Edward Lindsay.”
Lewis Senlis’s eyebrows rose. “You sailed in the Revolution. I’m afraid the French naval officers I knew didn’t have anything complementary to say about you. I congratulate you on your reputation, sir, but I say that only because we won the war.”
“I fought in the insurrection, if that’s what you mean,” Sir Edward replied. Still, he was pleased that he was known for doing well his duty.
The American smiled. “Still will not concede to the point, what? Well, never give up the fight.”
Sir Edward smiled at that, and took the man’s offered hand.
Then Senlis added, “May we extend the truce, sir, for we have ignorance as to your purpose.”
“I mean to take your ships, sir. There is a blockade on these trade lanes.”
“Ah, well, you see we are not headed for France. We come from Madeira and make straight to England with spirits and supplies for King George.”
“Indeed?”
The American laughed. “You have a doubt, I can see. Well, sir, I have been doing this sea business a good many years, and I have yet to lose a ship from under my feet. When we heard of the trouble, we sent word on ahead. Made an offer by dispatch on one of your military vessels, by way of Gibraltar. I have letters of mark here from the Admiralty in London. We already had news of the French Republicans progress, you see.”
He held out the packet. Sir Edward examined the papers. There were in order.
Kate wasn’t so easily pleased. She glared at the American captain as she spoke. “What are you about, Uncle Lewis? Those supplies are intended for the Carolinas. And some of the cloth was to be sent to Virginia as well.”
“Just making some hay while the sun shines, my girl.”
“He’s right, Kate,” said one of the younger men who were still lagging behind. “It was that or fight our way up to meet you in Bordeaux.”
The other one laughed. “Even I didn’t think you would be as pig-headed as that.”
“I wasn’t in Bordeaux as you clearly can see. Why would you go there to get me?” The color drained from her face. “Ambrose? You saw Ambrose Standish?”
“Not in the flesh, Katie,” said her uncle. “He sent us a message on Madeira and so here we are. Figured you would understand the plan, once you mulled it over a while. If you were in Bordeaux, then so would you be still. We’d get word to you before we left England for home again, though it would serve you right to be stranded, leasing the Wilde as you di
d.”
Her jaw clamped shut, but her face was still pale. The freckles showed darker on her white skin. Sir Edward could see that she was grinding her teeth. But she said nothing more; her eyes were now looking a thousand miles away.
The day was growing darker. The evening was upon them more quickly than it should have been, and Sir Edward then realized how long the battle had gone on.
A flare shot up from the Shawnee.
“That will be the O’Malleys,” her uncle said.
That news brought Kate back from her distant contemplation. Her grin cleared the trouble from her face.
“Well, best get permission to go see your friends, or the Irish will come here invading,” Lewis Senlis said. “Be damned if I stand in the way of that rushing tide.”
She glanced to Sir Edward, and he wondered if she was too proud to ask. Her mouth twitched slightly, the way it did before a sarcastic remark came out. But then it shut for a moment, and when she spoke, it was very quiet.
“Sir, I would ask your permission to go see my friends.”
It must be important to her, he thought, though she hadn’t quite looked at him when she said it. He called for Mr. Murray, and gave the order for a boat. “Wait there, and then bring her back here, Mr. Murray. We still have some unfinished business.”
Mr. Murray saluted and said, “Aye, Captain.”
She was staring over to the other ship as the midshipman took her elbow. But she stopped for a moment and looked back to Sir Edward. “Thank you,” she said, very shaky.
There were tears in her eyes.
Sir Edward turned back to his other guests as the American cleared his throat.
Captain Lewis Senlis said, “I am forgetting my manners, sir. Let me introduce you to these fine young saplings. This is my son, Gregory, who serves as my own second mate.”
Gregory Senlis saluted, and Sir Edward nodded back slightly in reply. The young man had the same height as his father, about the same as Sir Edward’s own. But while Lewis Senlis was wide in the chest and rounding in the belly, his boy was lean, but strong, from top to bottom.
The Wilde Flower Saga: A Contrary Wind (Historical Adventure Series) Page 39
