by Jane Jackson
‘Beg pardon, miss?’ Nathan said, and she looked up gratefully. ‘Mind brewing up a nice cuppa tea, would you? Only Mart got to help getting the hatches off, and all.’
‘No, Mr Ferris, I don’t mind at all. I’d be glad to.’ Had it been the mate’s idea or Jago’s to keep her occupied? She rubbed her hands. ‘It seems colder all of a sudden.’
‘Weather’s changing.’ He lifted his head to sniff the wind. ‘That there sunset was a warning. We’ll have some blow in the next day or two.’ He grinned at her. ‘You get that tea, and I’ll see about this here cargo.’
Caseley filled the kettle from the fresh water tank and set it on the stove in the galley shack after stirring up the fire. Then she went below to the day room to fetch more tea for the tin, and the condensed milk. Closing the day room door behind her she turned towards the stairs and gasped.
‘Oh! You startled me.’
Standing in the doorway of his cabin, Antonio Valdes watched her. ‘So,’ he said softly, as he looked her up and down. ‘I was too late.’
Unease battled anger and Caseley felt warmth flush her throat and cheeks. ‘Please excuse me, Señor Valdes, I am busy.’ She took a step towards the stairs but he blocked her path.
‘Is he a good lover?’ His mocking tone insinuated otherwise.
‘I … he is not my lover,’ she blurted in shock, then wished she had not spoken as he raised disbelieving eyebrows. Even discussing it with Valdes, she was playing into his hands.
He shrugged. ‘My apologies, señorita. Perhaps you do not like men.’
‘I do not like men who insult my intelligence, señor,’ she retorted. ‘Nor do I like men who pretend feelings they do not have.’
‘You suggest I am guilty of this?’
‘Can you deny it?’
He smiled with disarming candour. ‘I underestimated you, señorita. I do not encounter many women whose brains match their beauty.’
‘Then perhaps you should review your choice of company. Now if you would kindly step aside, Mr Ferris is expecting me on deck.’
He did not move. ‘Señorita, I beg you, listen to me. Do not risk more danger. Give me the package. I will ensure it reaches those who have the best interests of my country at heart.’
So there it was. Out in the open at last. There could be no more doubt about the true nature of his interest. Caseley frowned in puzzlement.
‘Señor, I am sorry if the recent troubles have cost your family money. But I do not think one contract for the transport of iron ore will restore their fortunes. Please excuse me.’
His hand fastened around her upper arm. Fear flooded through her as rage and frustration contorted his face.
‘Let go of me.’ Somehow she held her voice steady though her stomach was knotting painfully. Please somebody come. If Valdes became violent there was little she could do to defend herself.
‘You think you are so clever,’ he hissed, lapsing into Spanish. ‘Don’t you see, you are playing right into his hands? Jago Barata is a half-breed. He does not live in Spain. His father fled to Mexico to avoid the troubles. What are the morals and loyalties of such a man? He has left the ship, no? Where is he now? You do not know. Who is he with? What are they planning?
‘I have followed that package from Mexico. I care about the future of my country. The monarchy must be restored and Don Carlos must establish a new dynasty.’ Saliva had gathered at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes had the feverish glitter of a fanatic. ‘Spain needs his strength and his courage Give me the package, now!’
Booted feet clanged on the stairs and Jago appeared. There was icy anger in his narrowed gaze. ‘Take your hand off her.’ He turned. ‘The men are waiting for their tea, Caseley. See to it, will you?’ he said evenly.
She glanced from one to the other then ran up the stairs. As she reached the top she heard a fist connect with flesh, a sharp cry, then a muffled thud. Her pleasure at Antonio Valdes’s punishment was unladylike and deplorable. She ought to feel guilty. But she didn’t.
Hurrying to the galley shack she looked over her shoulder and saw Jago emerge from the companionway, sucking his knuckles. He did not even glance in her direction but went straight to the winch, sending Hammer onto the dockside to roll the barrels to the warehouse after Martin had unloaded them from the net.
Caseley carried out mugs of tea and the last of the cake. Nathan, who had been on the winch rope with Jago, called Jimbo up from the hold and beckoned Martin and Hammer back on board. While the men talked softly, sipping and chewing, Jago took Caseley to one side.
‘We won’t be finished for several hours. Drink your tea, then go below and get some sleep.’ He didn’t give her a chance to protest. ‘There’s nothing you can do to help. I’ll call you the instant the hatches are battened down. You have my word.’ Still she hesitated, but his next words convinced her.
‘I have no wish to frighten you, but it’s likely we’ll run into bad weather on our return trip. You’ll get little rest then. Make the most of this chance.’ It made sense.
‘And, Caseley?’ She looked up. ‘Lock the door.’
A brisk tapping woke her from a fitful sleep. She had not removed any of her clothes, so it took her only moments to refasten her skirt and button her jacket. Pausing only to slip her feet into her shoes, she hurried to unlock the door.
Jago stood on the threshold. ‘Ready?’
‘I just need a moment.’ She turned to re-enter the sleeping cubicle, limping badly, wishing there was time to wash her face and clean her teeth. Tendrils of her hair had escaped the confining net and curled on her forehead and in front of her ears.
‘Put on your cape. We must go at once.’
Slinging the cape over her arm she returned to the day room, tucking her wayward hair back into the net. ‘What’s happened? What’s wrong?’ Her ankle turned again and she winced.
‘Are you all right?’
She nodded quickly. ‘It’s just my foot. It’s always stiff when I first get up. It will be fine in a moment.’
‘Are you sure?’
She sensed there was more behind the question than concern for her comfort.
‘Yes, truly. It’s better already.’ She put her weight on it, rocking back and forward as she checked that the package was secure in her waistband. ‘Now, please tell me what’s wrong?’
‘Valdes has gone. I didn’t expect – But when I sent Hammer down to check, he’d disappeared. Did you hear anything?’
Caseley shook her head. ‘Does it matter?’ He must have accepted that she wasn’t going to betray any information concerning the documents. ‘Perhaps he has returned to his family.’
‘Not yet. He hasn’t given up, Caseley. We don’t know where he is or how many friends he may have locally. So, yes, it matters.’
She bent her head, pretending to fasten her cape, knowing her fiery blush must give her away.
‘Come on.’ He put his hand under her elbow. ‘Let us finish this charade.’ His tone was unexpectedly bitter and she dared not look at him.
She felt sick with a fear that had nothing to do with the dangers attached to delivering the package. If Jago knew what it contained – if he hated her for not trusting him – she wrenched her thoughts away. She had a job to do for her father, the most important job of her life. Focus on that. Forget everything else.
As they crossed the deck, Caseley saw that Cygnet’s gunwale was just above the level of the quay. She noticed Martin filling an iron cooking pot with water and marvelled at the boy’s stamina. He had worked alongside the men all night and was now preparing breakfast.
But where were the others? She was about to ask when Jago called her name sharply from the quay. She scrambled onto the barrel he had placed as a step. He held out his hands and she grasped them as she put her feet on the gunwale and jumped down onto the quay, automatically taking her most of her weight on her sound foot.
He kept hold of her hand and she ran to keep up with him as they quickly crossed the deserted wh
arves, weaving between silent sheds and warehouses.
They left the harbour area and as they turned onto a cobbled street that climbed towards a small, whitewashed church with a square tower, dawn was breaking.
Tall, flat-walled houses with oblong windows and small iron balconies bright with geraniums lined both sides of the street. But the height of the buildings filled the narrow thoroughfare with shadows. Dark doorways and alleys between the houses resembled gaping mouths.
Caseley slipped on the damp stones. Jago’s grip stopped her falling. In the momentary silence as she regained her balance and flexed her foot, she heard a soft slithering on the cobbles behind her. She looked round quickly but could see nothing in the gloom. Her throat was tight and dry.
‘Someone is following us,’ she whispered.
He did not appear surprised, merely nodding briefly. ‘It’s not far now. Once we reach the church –’
Whatever words of comfort he had intended to offer remained unspoken as he glanced over his shoulder.
The sound of soft laughter from higher up the hill made them look forward again and Jago clasped her hand tighter.
‘Sitting ducks.’ Antonio Valdes regarded them with malicious pleasure as he and another man came slowly down the hill towards them.
A chuckle from behind them made Caseley whirl round and she clutched Jago’s hand as fear bloomed inside her. Two more men were coming up the hill.
All three wore heavy dark trousers that ended just below the knee, coarse stockings criss-crossed with leather thongs, and crude shoes. They had dark waistcoats over their shirts, loosely knotted scarves or kerchiefs at their throats, and on their heads the bright red woollen boina of the Carlist cause.
Jago drew Caseley towards him. ‘They will try to separate us,’ he warned.
Fear had robbed her of speech. She had never imagined Antonio would go to such lengths. How naïve, how foolish she had been. She could feel Jago’s heartbeat against her back, slow and steady. His body was tense and one arm encircled her waist.
‘Get the girl,’ Antonio growled.
The men were closing in, moving forward slowly and relentlessly. Now she could see they were carrying short staves. Their eyes gleamed with savage excitement. Swarthy and unshaven, they grinned as they slapped the wooden clubs against dirty hands. She could smell their stale sweat.
‘Once you’ve got it,’ one whispered hoarsely to Antonio in heavily accented Spanish, ‘what about her?’
He shrugged. ‘Do as you like.’
‘No,’ she whispered, pressing back against Jago, raw fear turning her blood to ice water and her legs to jelly.
She felt Jago fumble at his belt and saw the flash of a blade as he held his hand low and slightly away from his body. He turned his head quickly, gauging which of the two pairs were nearer, then gave a piercing whistle. Thrusting Caseley behind him he lunged with lightning speed at the two men on the lower side.
Neither was prepared for the sudden attack. One slipped on the damp cobbles and fell backwards. As Jago caught the other a sweeping blow, the man yelled in pain, dropped his club, and clutched his arm. His shirtsleeve turned red and wet, and blood oozed between his fingers and dripped onto the cobbles.
The man who had fallen scrambled to his feet and lunged forward as Antonio darted towards Caseley.
‘Take Barata,’ he panted to the man beside him and seized Caseley’s arm, trying to dodge the punches she was aiming at his head and shoulders. She kicked at his shins but was hampered by her skirt and petticoats. Terrified, she fought with all her strength as he tried to wrench her away from Jago.
Then she heard the sound of running feet and the sickening thud of fist on flesh. Valdes released his hold.
‘Don’t you fret, my ’andsome. We’ll see the buggers off,’ Nathan grinned and pitched into the battle.
Leaning against the wall, Caseley dragged in sobbing breaths and tried to control the trembling that racked her. The three Basques were wielding their clubs with horrific ferocity. They weren’t defending themselves. They wanted to kill.
But Hammer, Jimbo, and Nathan were no easy prey. Using only fists and razor-sharp reflexes that allowed them to duck the blows, they quickly disarmed the attackers. Then they separated them.
Jago had re-sheathed his knife and as Hammer reeled back after taking a fist to his temple, Jago felled the Basque with a right cross, followed by a left hook. The man’s head snapped back and he was unconscious before he hit the cobbles.
Aside from the quiet order from Antonio and the Basque’s query about what to do with her, the incident had taken place in silence. Though the fighting was vicious, apart from gasped breaths, grunts as a fist landed, and the scuffle of feet on the cobbles, there was little noise.
A hand closed around her ankle and Caseley choked back a scream. Looking down, she saw Antonio Valdes sprawled at her feet. He twisted his head to peer up at her, his narrow face contorted in a smile that radiated malice.
‘You stupid bitch. You think you’ve won? How do you intend to get back to England?’ His weak laugh became a cough.
Caseley stared at him for a moment. Cygnet. Martin was alone on the schooner. Rage filled her. Stamping on his wrist, she wrenched her ankle, free then bent and slapped his smiling face with all her strength. The force of her blow split his lip and smashed his head against the cobbles. She ran to Jago.
‘The boat,’ she gasped, dragging him free. ‘Valdes has done something to Cygnet.’
Jago didn’t ask questions. ‘Nathan, get back to the wharf as fast as you can. Martin’s in trouble.’
Seizing Caseley’s arm he hurried her up the street, past the church and into an alley. Halfway along there was a heavy wooden door studded with iron nails. To one side a rope led through a small hole in the stone archway surrounding the door. Jago tugged it hard.
The wait seemed interminable but was probably no more than half a minute. The door opened to reveal a short plump man with receding hair dressed in dark clothes.
‘Señor Spinoza, please,’ she said quickly. ‘I am Caseley Bonython. My father is Teuder Bonython, the consul for Mexico. But he is unwell and could not come himself. This is Jago Barata, my father’s senior captain.’
Stepping back, the man gestured for them to enter and closed the massive door. They followed him across a small courtyard then through a maze of cool passages, finally emerging into a wide hall. Opening a door on the far side, the man ushered them into a spacious, book-lined study containing a huge carved desk, a brass-topped hexagonal table and several leather armchairs.
‘Señor Spinoza will be with you shortly.’ He inclined his head politely and would have left had Caseley not clutched his arm.
‘Please ask him to hurry. We must get back to the harbour. We were attacked on our way here and –’
Gently detaching her hand, he glanced from her to Jago then walked out.
Chapter Eighteen
As Caseley withdrew the crushed, wrinkled package from her waistband, the door opened. The man who entered was about sixty, tall and gaunt, and wore a full-length belted robe of crimson quilted silk with a white silk scarf knotted like a cravat at his throat.
Seeing the silver hair, small goatee beard, and the fine-boned aristocratic features of a grandee, Caseley was shaken. He was exactly as she had imagined Señor Roderiguez. The other man remained near the door, silent and watchful.
‘Señor Spinoza?’ Caseley asked the tall man.
He nodded. ‘You have something for me?’ His tone was polite, but Caseley noticed he had not bothered with greetings.
At her hesitation Jago muttered, ‘For God’s sake, Caseley, give it to him so we can get out of here.’
She glanced at him, holding the package tightly, feeling its altered thickness. Remembering her father’s instructions, that she was only to hand over the documents if she was told the name of the place where the young king was, she moistened her lips.
‘I believe you have visited England, sir,’ s
he said.
He smiled slightly. ‘I did, many years ago. I have a young acquaintance at Sandhurst Military Academy. He is staying with one of the instructors whose address is One, The Terrace. Apparently it is known as Tea Caddy Row, though I have yet to discover why.’
Caseley offered the crumpled envelope and the thin man took it. But when he saw it was already open his face changed and as he raised his eyes to hers she glimpsed steel beneath the velvet courtesy.
‘I beg your pardon, sir. I had to be certain.’ Turning away, she withdrew the second envelope with its distinctive and unbroken seal from within her blouse. Her shaking fingers fumbled as she refastened the buttons.
‘You are your father’s daughter,’ the thin man said.
Jago placed an impatient hand on the small of her back. ‘Forgive us, sir, but we must hurry.’ He propelled her towards the door.
‘Please accept our sincere thanks, Miss Bonython. You also, Captain Barata. Vaya con Dios.’
As they raced back to the harbour, she was so relieved to have honoured her promise and delivered the package, she assumed Jago’s silence was due to concern for Martin and the others.
Though she ran as fast as she could, her uneven gait and the slippery cobbles would have caused her to fall more than once but for his firm grip on her hand.
Her breath burned in her throat, her heart pounded, and she could not suck enough air into her lungs. Beneath the heavy cape and fitted jacket her cotton blouse and shift clung to her skin as perspiration beaded her back and trickled between her breasts. Again she stumbled, and once more he pulled her upright and forced her to keep running.
People were beginning to appear and paused to stare with mingled curiosity and suspicion. But none got in their way. A swift glance at his set features convinced Caseley he would simply have knocked aside anyone who tried to stop them.
