Perfect Romance

by Duncan, Alice

  Suddenly the telephone receiver was snatched from her hand, and she jumped back with a startled cry. Naturally, the person who had perpetrated the uncivil deed was Captain Malachai Quarles. She pushed her eyeglasses up her nose and scowled at him. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “Get someone over here now. This is Captain Malachai Quarles, and the injured man is one of my crew.”

  Loretta gaped, infuriated, as the captain listened for a very few seconds, then said, “Good. Right.” and slammed the receiver into the cradle.

  He turned and glared down at her again. His face seemed able to exhibit only two expression: sarcasm and anger. “The police will be here shortly.”

  Loretta expelled a large breath. “Do you mean to tell me they responded to your command, and they were going to ignore my civil request?”

  The captain shrugged. “Didn’t sound like a civil request to me. Sounded more like a demand.” He went back to his fallen employee and again knelt at Peavey’s side.

  Frustrated and wishing she could batter the captain, Loretta decided she’d be shirking her duty as a woman and a Christian if she gave vent to her own feelings when a creature in distress lay nearby. Even if he was a man.

  Because she’d been friends with Dr. Abernathy for years and had seen him at work more than once, Loretta decided that the best thing she could do for Mr. Peavey was to wash the blood off his face and cover him with a blanket or something. The floor was cold, and she’d learned from Dr. Abernathy that people who had been felled by a blow sometimes went into shock and needed to be kept warm. Therefore, she shrugged out of her woolen coat—Loretta didn’t suffer from her secretary’s delicacy of feelings—and gently tucked it around Mr. Peavey. The captain grunted. Loretta didn’t know if it was a grunt expressing approval or what, but she opted not to pay attention to it.

  Fetching a clean dish towel from the drawer where they were kept, she wetted the cloth at the sink and trotted back to Peavey, trying her best to ignore the captain’s piercing eyes, which seemed to follow her every movement. They made her nervous. Unaccustomed to being nervous, Loretta took this, as she so far took everything about the captain, amiss. “Stop staring at me!”

  “You’re cold.”

  She gave him a withering glance. “I am not.”

  He gestured at her bared arm. “You’ve got gooseflesh.”

  Blast and hell. Loretta glanced at her rebellious arms. Sure enough, they had gooseflesh. “It’s nothing,” she said curtly.

  “Huh.” Standing abruptly, Captain Quarles unfastened his cape and threw it over Loretta’s shoulders. It puddled at her feet.

  Huffy as well as embarrassed, as well as stimulated strangely by the warmth of the wrap and the faint scent of the sea and of the captain it carried with it, Loretta snapped, “There’s no need for that.”

  “Nuts.” Captain Quarles sneered at her. “Little Miss Ministering Angel. Here, give me that.” He snatched the wet towel from her hands and started carefully wiping blood from Peavey’s face.

  “How dare you?” Loretta demanded, trying to keep her voice at a whisper in deference to the injured man, but so affronted that she wanted to scream at the captain. She reached for the towel, but Captain Quarles held tight.

  “Will you stop that! I’ll clean him up.”

  He gave her another sneer and his gaze raked her from tip to toe, making her blush and, thereby, enraging her further. Loretta didn’t take kindly to being made to blush.

  “I thought ladies were supposed to faint at the sight of blood.”

  “I,” said Loretta, thoroughly offended, “do not faint at the sight of anything.”

  “I’m not surprised. Go look for the doctor, will you, and quit getting in my way.”

  Because the captain was so very large, and because she felt it would be more humiliating to fight and be defeated than to submit gracefully to his obnoxious command, she turned on her heel and headed for the door. She had to bunch his cape up in her fist because it tended to drag, being very much too big for her.

  Her joy when she beheld Dr. Jason Abernathy exiting the automobile he’d parked on the other side of Powell Street, while not boundless, was nevertheless sincere. The doctor, who shared Loretta’s interest in numberless causes, would be a pleasant change from the captain, with whom she shared absolutely, positively nothing.

  Chapter Three

  “Jason!” The fall evening was crisp, but thanks to the captain’s cape—curse the man—and her gratitude at seeing her friend, she rushed out the door and over to his automobile, holding the cape up so that she wouldn’t trip on it and go sprawling. “Thank God you’re here. I’m afraid the poor man has a concussion.”

  Giving her a friendly hug, Jason said, “I’ll check on him. What happened, for heaven’s sake? People don’t often get bashed in the Ladies’ soup kitchen.”

  “I know. And I haven’t an idea in the world what happened. All I know is that I returned to the soup kitchen to fetch— Oh, my!” Loretta slapped her hands to her cheeks, recalling the evening’s dinner engagement, and almost losing her cloak. She grabbed it and held on.

  “Don’t worry,” Jason said. “I was on my way out the door to go to your house for the party when you rang me. I called Miss MacTavish and told her you’d be delayed. I’m sure Miss Eunice will understand. Fetching cloak, by the way.”

  Deciding to ignore his comment about the captain’s cloak, Loretta chuckled as she pictured little Miss Eunice Golightly, soon to be Eunice FitzRoy, since her stepfather was in the process of legally adopting her. “I’m sure she will. Thank you very much, Jason. I forgot all about the party until right this minute.”

  He patted her on the back. “Think nothing of it. I know your mind is generally on loftier matters than mere dinner engagements.”

  With a frown, Loretta tried to decide if he was ribbing her, and if she should be offended. Ultimately concluding that she was better off not becoming riled with a friend, and that Captain Quarles was enough of a problem for one evening, she yet frowned. “I’m sorry Eunice won’t get her present until later, though.”

  “If anyone in the universe will understand that disappointment is a part of life, it’s Eunice, Loretta. Don’t fret.”

  While Jason was absolutely correct, Eunice being something of a genius who already understood more about life than most adults, Loretta still shook her head, feeling not merely sorry for Eunice, but also feeling as if this whole problem was somehow her fault. But that was utter nonsense, and she knew it in her brain. Her heart, which occasionally behaved irrationally, was another matter. However, she chose not to fret, as Jason had suggested.

  “As I already mentioned, that’s a fetching cape, Loretta, but it seems a trifle large for you.”

  Unconsciously borrowing vocabulary from the despicable captain, Loretta said, “Huh.” Feeling emotionally unequipped to explain Malachai Quarles to Jason, she added, “They’re in the kitchen.”

  “They?” Jason snapped his black bag open as Loretta led him kitchenwards.

  “Yes.” She couldn’t repress a sniff of disapproval. “The man is a sailor, apparently, and his captain came looking for him.”

  “Ah. Wonder why the man came here if he’s gainfully employed.”

  Loretta thought that if she worked for Captain Quarles, she’d do anything within her power to keep away from him, but she didn’t say so. “I have no idea, although his mind seemed to be wandering when he was in here earlier today, and he seems to have a fixation on the Moors’ invasion of Spain.”

  Jason’s eyes opened wide. “How remarkable.”

  “Indeed. I can’t imagine how he got back in after the door was locked. Or maybe he never left.” She pondered that possibility. Had the man been hiding out in the soup kitchen all day? Why?

  As they approached Captain Quarles and his crewman, Loretta noticed that the small yellow disks had vanished from the floor. She frowned at Captain Quarles, but didn’t mention the matter.

  The captain rose to his fe
et and held out a large, rough, and very tanned hand for Jason to shake, which he did without even registering distaste, which Loretta considered faintly disloyal, although she knew she was being irrational. She allowed herself another significant frown, however.

  “Captain Malachai Quarles,” said the captain in his rumbling bass voice.

  “Aha!” Jason sounded delighted. Loretta glanced at him sharply. “I’m Dr. Jason Abernathy. I thought you looked familiar. I’ve seen your picture in the newspapers. Delighted to meet you, Captain Quarles.”

  Loretta’s mouth dropped open and her bosom swelled with indignation. How dare Jason express delight in this wretched man’s company?

  “Thank you, Dr. Abernathy. Likewise.” The captain’s gaze sought his stricken employee. “Peavey’s awake, and he seems to be coherent. I didn’t want to move him.”

  Again, Loretta felt indignant. “You would have moved him, if I hadn’t stopped you.”

  Both men glanced at her and away again, as if she were nothing more than a nettlesome insect whose presence had made itself felt only slightly and, having been judged insignificant, could be ignored.

  Jason withdrew his stethoscope from his black bag and knelt beside Peavey. “How do you feel, Mr. Peavey.”

  “Got a headache.” Peavey’s voice was rough around the edges, as if he’d had to force it through a space too small to hold it. “Feel like hell.” His gaze, which had been taking in the kitchen and the captain and the doctor, picked up on Loretta’s presence, and he swallowed. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “For God’s sake, don’t mind her,” the captain said. Loretta wanted to bop him one.

  As if sensing Loretta’s mood, Jason spoke before anyone else could. “Let’s just see what’s going on here.” After unbuttoning the man’s shirt and shoving his undershirt up, he pressed the stethoscope to Peavey’s chest in several places. “Sounds all right so far.” He folded the scope and stuffed it into his bag. “I’m going to have to palpate your head. I’ll try not to hurt you.”

  “Uh-huh.” Peavey braced himself, and the doctor started probing.

  As she watched, Loretta winced in sympathy, then sought the captain. He was, naturally, looking at her and had caught her expression, which might be—and undoubtedly was, by him—interpreted as an example of womanly weakness. Drat him. She scowled at him. His sneer altered not. Beastly man. Wretched man.

  She was saved by the sound of people at the door. Hurrying out of the kitchen, Loretta saw that the police had arrived. Had they done so at her bidding, she would have greeted them gladly. As it was, she resented them almost as much as she resented Captain Malachai Quarles.

  A sergeant of police spotted her and came forward. “Good evening, ma’am. I understand there’s trouble here.”

  “Yes. A man named—”

  ”Excuse me, ma’am, but I understand Captain Quarles is here.”

  Loretta felt herself swelling, rather like a hot-air balloon she’d seen recently in Golden Gate Park. Only it wasn’t hot air inflating her, it was pure, unadulterated rage. “Captain Quarles has nothing to do with this!” she said, rather more loudly than she had intended.

  “This way,” a voice rumbled at her back.

  Loretta shut her eyes and counted to fifteen, ten seeming insufficient to the purpose.

  “Sergeant Bowes, Captain Quarles.” The policemen, all with broad smiles on their faces, walked right past Loretta and up to the captain. The sergeant held out his hand, and the captain shook it. “It’s good to meet you. I’ve read all about your treasure ship in the Chronicle.”

  As she glowered after them, Loretta’s brain commenced to whirl. The captain had been in the Chronicle? With his treasure ship? What treasure ship? Both the policeman and Jason had mentioned seeing the horrid captain in the newspaper. Had the man done something noteworthy? Loretta read the newspapers, but her interests were political and social. She didn’t pay much attention to other news, most of which she deemed frivolous.

  Perceiving no alternative unless she wanted to be left out of the action entirely, she walked after the new arrivals and the captain and into the kitchen. Inspecting the captain from behind, she decided he still didn’t look like any self-respecting sea captain she’d ever seen. He looked more like a pirate. She hated to admit it, but he had quite the swashbuckling air about him.

  Jason was still in the process of examining Mr. Peavey, so she stood back, leaned against a counter, and watched. Loretta Linden wasn’t accustomed to being out of the limelight. Nor was she accustomed to feeling left out and ignored. The sensations didn’t sit well with her.

  While Jason continued to prod and probe Peavey’s body, the police sergeant began his interrogation of Mr. Peavey. The sergeant’s minions started inspecting the premises, for all the good that would do them, Loretta thought bitterly. She was intimately acquainted with the Ladies’ Benevolence League’s soup kitchen and, except for the body and blood on the floor, she hadn’t detected a single thing out of place.

  She remembered those shiny yellow disks and her gaze sought the captain. He was no longer there. Damn the man to perdition, he’d probably escaped with the loot!

  A deep voice behind her made her jump, and she whirled around. There he was, all right. He’d sneaked up behind her on the other side of the counter, the repellant, skulking brute. Giving him one of her more magnificent frowns, she hissed, “Who are you?”

  His dark eyes gleamed maliciously. “I told you who I am. Captain Malachai Quarles.”

  She knew he was toying with her. She hated him for it. “You know very well what I mean,” she said, giving a broad gesture that almost cost her the warmth of his cloak. She clutched it to her bosom, still frowning. “All these men seem to know you from the newspaper. What did you do? Murder someone?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” the captain said snidely. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Miss Linden. These gentlemen have read about me in the newspapers because I am captain of the ship Moor’s Revenge, and my crew and I have recently discovered a sunken Moorish ship off the coast of a small, unnamed island in the Canaries, along with a king’s ransom in old Moorish and Spanish coins and other ancient treasure and historical artifacts.”

  Merciful heavens. “Oh.” Her mind raced. “Is that why Mr. Peavey was raving about Moors earlier in the day, when he was taking luncheon with us?”

  “I suppose. His mind goes off on tangents sometimes.” The captain shrugged his mammoth shoulders.

  Loretta wished she hadn’t noticed his shoulders. They were at present straining the fabric of his fine lawn shirt as well as her feminist principles. She rather wished she could inspect those shoulders more closely. She also wished she hadn’t noticed the fineness of the cloth out of which his shirt was made, since she believed she ought to be above such things.

  Curse her eyeglasses! She was sure that if she weren’t wearing them, she wouldn’t be so keenly aware of the captain’s manly charms. She also suspected the captain wouldn’t be treating her in this offhand, not to say ungentlemanly, way, if she weren’t wearing them. Captain Smith, of the doomed Titanic, had been the soul of courtesy. Then again, Captain Smith was dead.

  Mentally smacking herself, Loretta brought her brain back to important issues. “Yes. I suppose that explains it, then.” She recalled the shiny yellow disks. “Is that what you picked up from the floor? Those golden coins? Were they part of the Moorish treasure?” She sniffed to let the captain know what she thought of people who stole from the incapacitated.

  His eyes narrowed. “You saw the coins?”

  “Of course, I saw the coins! I’m not blind, even if you did knock my spectacles off.”

  “Huh.” One of his big brown hands lifted, and he stroked his chin. Loretta had a mad impulse to take over the operation from him.

  Whatever was the matter with her? She’d never had these impulses before, not even with men whom she liked. She abominated the captain. “Well? Were they Moorish coins? Or Spanish coins? And did you st
eal them from Mr. Peavey?”

  With a glower that was ever so much more magnificent than any she could produce, curse the man, Captain Quarles snarled, “I don’t steal. Yes, they were Moorish coins. Now will you be quiet about them? I don’t want the whole world to know about this!”

  Loretta considered the possibility of a person exploding from an excess of built-up bile. “Well, you can jolly well tell me about them, Captain Quarles, because your employee was blackjacked in my soup kitchen! I’ll not let the matter rest,” she warned him.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” the captain muttered under his breath. “All right. If it’ll keep your mouth shut, I’ll tell you about it.” And with that, he reached across the counter, snagged Loretta’s arm in a grip like iron, and dragged her toward the kitchen door.

  Only out of deference to the ill man, Loretta didn’t shriek with rage. “Stop that!” she whispered furiously.

  “Huh.” He didn’t alter his path or lighten his grip on her arm, but led her relentlessly from the kitchen. After he’d shut the door behind them, Captain Quarles released Loretta’s arm. She had to command herself not to rub the bruised place—but she wouldn’t give the unmitigated animal the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her. “Sit down.”

  “I prefer to stand.”

  He eyed her evilly. “Suit yourself. And don’t go blabbing about this, Miss Linden. It’s not for public knowledge. If the press gets hold of it, God alone knows what will happen.”

  “I,” said Loretta through tightly clenched teeth, “do not blab.”

  With a look of utter disdain, the Captain said, “All women blab. But you’d better not this time.”

  “Why, you insufferable lout! I’ll have you know—”

  “Do you want to hear this or not?” demanded the captain. “If you do, quit blabbing.”