Mary: To Protect Her Heart (Other Pens, Mansfield Park Book 3)

by Leenie Brown

  “Silence,” the man growled again. “I am to free you so that you can move around this hold.”

  “Very well, then, you may proceed,” Mary said, poking her feet toward him.

  “How gracious of you,” the man snarled.

  “Where are we sailing to?” Margaret asked. “I have not been on a boat except to row across a pond.”

  “I shan’t tell you no more,” the man said. “I have half a mind to leave you tied up for the trouble you been.”

  “But then, your – captain, is it? – would not be pleased.”

  The man growled but said not a word.

  “I truly wish you would tell me the proper word. It is most aggravating not knowing what term I should be using.”

  “Captain,” he barked. “You may call him the captain. He be in charge of everything on this ship – including you.”

  “Thank you,” Margaret said sweetly. “If you had just said so to begin with, we could have avoided this whole argument. But then, you are likely not used to having ladies as cargo. At least, I should hope you are not, and I would kindly appreciate it if you would not tell me if you do have ladies as cargo on a regular basis.”

  “You would not like that, would you?” There was a hint of delight in the man’s voice.

  “Oh, ‘tis not I who would not like it, although it would be most improper, especially as my sister is not married, but you would find it to be a frightfully bothersome business.”

  “Her husband is a parson,” Mary explained as the man’s brows furrowed. “My sister would feel it her duty to instruct you on your reprehensible ways.”

  “Oh, most certainly,” Margaret cried. “Although I am not certain I can remember all the scripture as it should be read.”

  “And I could show you what we do with ladies who visit us,” he said, leaning toward her.

  “There is no need. I am certain I could tell you. Not that I will, of course.”

  “But can your sister?”

  Mary chuckled. “I may be innocent, but I am not naive. One does not live with the admiral and remain naïve for long.”

  “Admiral, you say?” the man tipped his head and studied her with something that looked like respect.

  “He was my uncle,” Mary emphasized the word was. It was perhaps not a good thing for them to think she was of any sort of value besides whatever value they currently thought she was. She had no idea who these men were and for whom they sailed. “What flag are you flying?”

  The man chuckled. “Not the White Ensign” was all he said before rising. “Nor the Red Ensign she normally flies.”

  “She is a privateer?”

  “Was,” he said with a laugh as he left them, locking the door behind him.

  Mary stood and swung her arms back and forth while she lifted one foot and then another as if she was walking though she stood still. Then, once her arms and legs felt as if they had been loosened of the knots they had formed while she slept in such an awkward position, she moved around the small hold.

  There was not much room, and what room there was was filled with crates and barrels – barrels that looked very much like the ones she had seen in Mr. Durward’s warehouse. Could this be one of his boats?

  She moved to look at one crate more closely. There were no markings that she recognized.

  Next, she studied the lantern. The wick seemed well trimmed, and there appeared to be a good bit of oil. They should have light for some time. She tugged gently on its handle. To her relief, it was securely locked into its holder. She widened her stance and attempted not to slide to the right as the boat rolled.

  “What I would not give for a book or a bit of stitching,” Margaret said.

  “I do not think I could enjoy either with all this rocking,” Mary said. She would do well to not become ill from the motion.

  There was nothing to do besides either pace their small confines in a staggering fashion as they attempted to grow accustomed to the motion of the ship or sleep. And so, they did one for a period of time, and then endeavoured to do the other when their legs grew weary. They huddled together as comfortably as they could in a corner they created by pushing around a couple of crates. It felt secluded and gave the illusion of being safe.

  Mary was not sure for how long they had slept when the sound of someone outside the locked door to their hold roused her. “Margaret,” she hissed.

  “What?” Margaret replied sleepily.

  “We are about to have a guest.”

  “A guest?” Margaret’s voice was panicked. “What do you think he will do with us?”

  Mary pulled her self up and smoothed her skirts as much as she could. “I do not know. You did very well last time with not showing your fear, which helped me control mine. Can you do it again?” Margaret’s wide, fearful eyes focused on Mary’s as she nodded.

  They both rose and waited for the door to open.

  “Ladies.”

  To say that the gentleman who entered the room surprised Mary and Margaret would be too gentle a reaction. Neither lady had prepared themselves to know their captor.

  “Mr. Radcliff?” Mary managed to say as Margaret clung to her arm.

  “I see you remember me,” Mr. Radcliff replied with a grin. “However, you may call me Captain, as this is my boat.”

  “Your boat?” Mary repeated.

  “Yes, my boat, though we have been separated these three years.” He pulled over a crate and tipped it on its side. “Please be seated.”

  Mary was grateful for the makeshift bench for her legs had gone wobbly at his entrance.

  “It will be good to see her home again instead of in English hands.”

  “You are not British?”

  He cursed in French. “I am only British to win back my lady.” He patted the side of the hull. “It was good of Durward to give her to me.” He chuckled. “His partners will not be pleased I suppose, but then they are already not pleased with him.” He turned and leaned against the wall. “It seems privateering comes easily as stealing is second nature to him.”

  “I cannot believe that!” Margaret cried.

  Again, Radcliff laughed. “He is very good at concealing it. However, he has been skimming money from his partners for some time, and they are just now finding out about it. He will not like how that turns out, but then, he has greater things to worry about than that.” He shifted from leaning on one foot to the other. “He was arrested earlier today for pinching a piece of jewelry from Lady St. James. I understand she insulted him once, and he wished to take his revenge. He’ll likely hang. It is why I had to reclaim my lady before we had planned. I could not count on the assistance of a dead man.”

  Mary clutched her throat. It could not be true. She must consider who was telling her these things. Mr. Radcliff had had her and her sister kidnapped. He was not to be trusted. Mr. Durward was. She repeated this to herself.

  “Why are we travelling with you?” Margaret asked.

  “Frenchmen – at least, the ones I know and work with – adore British ladies, but if they do not want you, I am certain your brother or husband would pay handsomely to have your returned.” He grimaced. “I had hoped that Durward would be the one paying the ransom – I saw how sweet he was on you, Miss Crawford, but then he got caught. So, I do hope for your sakes there are those who would wish to see you returned.”

  “We are going to France?” Mary managed to ask.

  Radcliff nodded.

  “Mr. Durward is in prison?” Margaret asked.

  Again, Radcliff nodded. “It’s here in the paper.” He pulled an article from his pocket. “I apologize, but I spilled wine on the bottom half that tells of where he is being held.”

  Mary scanned the news account about Lady St. James reporting a theft and then the few snatches of what she could read beyond that mentioned something about Mr. Durward having the brooch. It could not be true. It could not be. And yet, here it was in black and white.

  Radcliff took the paper from her lap. “I wi
ll have some blankets and such sent to you along with some food. I apologize that the accommodations cannot be more to your normal standard, but I cannot risk losing such valuable cargo. My friends would be very upset if I were to lose you. You understand, of course.”

  He did not wait to allow them to reply but left quickly, locking the door behind him.

  Chapter 13

  “What are you doing standing on the street?” Gabe inquired of his mother when he finally reached his home later that evening well after the sun had disappeared behind the horizon. “You will catch a chill.” She was not accustomed to the weather in England yet. She was always cold and yet, here she was standing in front of his house with little more than a shawl to keep her warm.

  “You did not come home for dinner,” she scolded as he wrapped his greatcoat around her and ushered her back toward the house.

  “I was busy.” He had been riding up and down streets for hours in an attempt to find any sign of Mary.

  “Mr. Bertram is here.”

  “And he allowed you to stand out here?”

  “He does not know I was outside. Do not blame him for my need to see if you were returning home or not. A mother worries when her son does not come home when he is expected.”

  “I apologize, Mama. I should have come home for dinner and then returned to my business.”

  “Of chasing after nothing?”

  He had seen that look from her many times when she was not pleased with him.

  “I was not chasing after nothing.”

  “You are if you have no direction in which to look.”

  “And how was I supposed to find the direction in which to look?” He followed her down the corridor to the sitting room.

  “Mr. Crawford is also here,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Does he have any news?”

  “No, but Mr. Newman does.”

  Gabe stopped mid-stride. Mr. Newman was at his house? They had not asked for the books to be returned until tomorrow. Surely, there was no way they had sent someone to claim them early or worse — to present him with their accusations.

  His mother poked her head out of the sitting room door. “Are you coming?”

  He hurried to her. As it happened, it was not just Mr. Crawford, Tom, and Mr. Newman who were in his sitting room with his mother. There were also three others — Mr. Terrell, Mr. Waller, and Mr. Fitzroy, all of whom were amongst his partners. No wonder his mother was particularly anxious to have him home.

  “How may I be of service?” he said, taking a seat near the fire as his mother was motioning him to do. To be honest, the heat was not unwelcome. He had grown somewhat chilled while riding.

  “Did you find anything?” Henry asked.

  Gabe shook his head and took the glass of rum his mother offered him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Tom was attempting not to grin at the coddling Gabe was receiving. A quick look around the group let him know that it was not just Tom who was finding it amusing. He sighed, resigning himself to the embarrassment. There was no way he was going to tell his mother not to care for him. His mother was one of the more demonstrative and outspoken sorts of ladies, and if he tried to protest her care, she would counter his protests and the embarrassment would be multiplied.

  “I am sorry I cannot be the bearer of better news,” he said to Henry. “How is Dr. Grant?”

  “He is resting as well as can be expected.”

  “It was not an apoplexy, then?”

  Henry shook his head. “No. Although the physician has given him some tinctures as well as some strict instructions for rest.”

  “But he will rest better if we find his wife.”

  Henry nodded his agreement to Gabe’s statement.

  “And how might I be of service to the rest of you gentlemen? I have the accounts if that is what you wish to collect. I am not in a state to be of any good at finding an error tonight, so if you take them now, it will save you a trip tomorrow.”

  Mr. Newman drew his head back as his brow furrowed. “I do not have the pleasure of understanding your meaning.”

  “Mr. Radcliff gave me a message that you would send someone to collect the ledgers in the morning. It was at the same time when he collected my key from me and sent me packing.”

  “Sent you packing?” Mr. Terrell cried.

  Gabe swallowed the last of his rum and shrugged off the blanket his mother had placed on his knees. “I am to remain at home until you have decided what to do with me and the error I have discovered.”

  “Who decided that?” Mr. Fitzroy asked.

  “Mr. Radcliff said it was a group decision.” A sense of dread was beginning to settle into Gabe’s stomach. “Was that not true?”

  “It is the first I have heard of it,” said Mr. Waller.

  “But it does explain why I heard you had left the warehouse looking offended,” added Mr. Newman. “And it might explain what I am about to tell you as well.” The man shifted and looked uneasily at his companions.

  Apparently, whatever Mr. Newman had to say was going to take some restraint to receive with any amount of equanimity in front of his mother.

  “We had a report that a ship of yours has been,” he shrugged, “moved.”

  “Moved? From one place to another at the quay?”

  Mr. Waller shook his head. “From one port to another is the apparent plan.”

  “One of my ships has been stolen?” Gabe shot from his seat to pace the room.

  Mr. Newman nodded. “The Edie. I was given the report half an hour ago.”

  The Edie, a fast and maneuverable brig which had done well for him both in prize expeditions and when delivering goods, had been Gabe’s first prize – his first token of success in his new life of independence from the company.

  “You heard a half hour ago?” His supper was destined to be ignored tonight, for he was convinced that it was possible to catch his ship. Moving quickly down the crowded Thames in a ship the size of the Edie was not possible, even at night. He had no idea what he would do once he caught her, but that did not matter. She had been stolen, and, consequently, her recovery had to be attempted.

  Therefore, thirty minutes later, he had sent a message to round up a crew of six sturdy rowers who were not afraid of a skirmish, kissed his mother good-bye, and was at the dock, climbing into a rowboat with a crew of half-sober, armed men to help him navigate through the thick traffic on the river in pursuit of his boat.

  As he was settling into his seat, Mr. Waller climbed in beside him.

  “Keeping an eye on me for the others?” Gabe asked.

  Waller shook his head. “I’m joining you of my own accord. I’ve been on plenty of captures, and nearly had the running of my own vessel until I learned of your partnership and saw a way to earn my keep without risking my own life and limb to do so.”

  Gabe lifted a brow in question.

  Waller shrugged. “I wish to marry.”

  Gabe understood that motive for leaving adventure behind for something more sedate. However, at present part of his livelihood, which would allow him to marry, was sailing down the Thames, and the lady to whom he wished to be wed was missing somewhere in London.

  “Do you have a lady in mind for the position of Mrs. Waller?” Gabe asked as he, Waller, and the rowers began to move the boat away from its mooring.

  “I do. A pretty thing she is too, and she’ll be mine as soon as I can set myself up well enough to please her father.”

  The oars sliced through the water as some of the men sang to keep the rhythm steady.

  “This will be a dangerous adventure,” Gabe cautioned Waller.

  “I know, Durward. I have heard that you are not one to be crossed, and since I am experienced, I figured my assistance might prove beneficial.” He grinned at Gabe. “And I cannot deny that I want to see if the stories I have heard of you are correct.”

  “Stories?” Gabe feigned ignorance. He had a good idea what sorts of stories Waller had likely been told.
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br />   “I heard you’ve taken on a fellow or two who have tried to take advantage of you, and there are many around the docks who respect you as only they will for a man they know will do exactly as he says he will.” He chuckled. “I understand those men who attempted to play you false are no longer in England proper.”

  “You heard well,” Gabe replied.

  “That is why the others are so anxious about the books,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not one of them thinks you would pilfer money, and they are each hoping it does not appear to be them who is at fault.”

  “Then they are not going to accuse me of taking the missing funds?”

  Waller shook his head. “There might be one or two who have not heeded the others, but the majority of us are not looking at you as the source of the trouble. And now with this taking place tonight, I think we will have our man.”

  “Radcliff,” Gabe growled the name.

  Waller nodded. “Dreadfully annoying fellow.”

  “No truer words have been spoken.”

  The men fell back into silence for a time as they concentrated on taking strong strokes, urging their boat to cut through the water as fast as possible.

  “I’ll board first,” Gabe said as they approached the Edie. He made certain his gun was loaded, and his knife was within reach. Then he began scaling the vessel as quietly as he could.

  Waller and the others were to follow.

  “I’d not go any further.”

  Gabe, who had just gotten to his feet after boarding the ship, spun about to see Radcliff aiming a gun at him.

  “You thought you could take her from me again?” Radcliff sneered. “I say,” he took a step closer to Gabe as a few crew members formed a circle about him. “I thought you might attempt it, so I prepared.” He stepped to the side and, making a sweeping motion with his pistol, directed Gabe’s attention to the door to the lower deck where Mary and Margaret were being held with knives to their throats. “You can have one lady,” he said, “but not all three.”