“Oh,” she murmured.
“That was my very same reaction when I saw the caves earlier this week,” he replied.
The roof of the main cave towered many feet over their heads. Huge spear like stalactites hung down from the ceiling, while stalagmites rose in tower like formations from the floor of the cave.
“It’s wonderous. How far back does this cave go?” she said.
“Well there are ancient myths that it is a gateway to the underworld, but I expect it goes back quite some way. No one has really made a concerted effort to explore deeper into the lower chambers for fear of never being seen again,” he replied.
Hattie released her hold of Will’s hand. Her fear of the monkeys and the cave were gone, she felt emboldened enough to explore a little on her own. The cave was empty of other tourists. Will was right, it was like something from Greek mythology. She half expected an ancient god or a monster to appear at the back of the cave
Reaching the nearest stalagmite, she put her hand against it.
“It’s wet!” she exclaimed, pulling her hand away.
Will laughed.
“The water from the roof has to go somewhere.”
He pointed toward the roof of the cave.
“The rainwater seeps into the limestone on the top surface of the rock outside and over many years makes its way down into the cave. That water you just touched could be thirty years old.”
Hattie looked at her hand, and shook the water from her fingertips. Will clapped his hands in delight.
“You look just like my youngest sister Caroline does when the cat has licked her hand. It is the funniest sight you will ever see,” he chuckled.
Hattie snorted. Her family cat Brutus was more likely to take a piece out of your hand than give you a friendly lick.
“So, do you have many siblings?” she ventured.
She knew she was treading on dangerous ground asking about family, but she knew enough of her former maid’s family history to be able to rattle off a few names without too much hesitation if Will decided to turn the tables and ask about her own family.
A wistful look appeared on his face.
“I have two sisters and one brother. Evelyn, who we call Eve, is in her early twenties. Caroline who is three years younger. And Francis who fits somewhere in the middle, though at six feet four he struggles to fit in anywhere. I am especially looking forward to getting reacquainted with them.”
The joy in his voice when he spoke about his family brightened Hattie’s mood. It had been a long time since her whole family had been together and exchanged kind words with one another. It was nice to hear of other people who still had loving family relationships.
Another group of tourists entered the cave and began to look around. The private moment between them was at an end.
The sun was sinking slowing in the west and the air rapidly cooling when they began to make the slow descent back down the mountain and into town. They had spent several hours in the cave walking around seeing the various limestone formations. Will had shown her one which had been cut across the top and had growth rings like a tree.
He was an excellent guide, warm and engaging. By the end of their time in the cave, Hattie felt a small tendre beginning to bud for Will.
The excitement which continued to course through her veins, had her quietly asking if they could walk back into town rather than take the cart. Will paid their guide and sent him and his donkey on their way as they left St Michael's cave
Hattie was exhausted when they finally reached the town square, but her soul felt alive. The day spent with Will was a world away from the strict and dull existence to which she had become so accustomed over the past few years.
“Let's find somewhere private for us to enjoy some more of the local cuisine. I don't know about you, but I am starving,” he said.
When he turned and looked at her, Hattie's gaze immediately settled on Will's lips. Only a matter of a day ago he had held her in his arms and given her that swoon worthy kiss.
A blush burned on her cheeks and she lifted a tentative finger to feel it's heat. Turning away, she hoped he had not seen her moment of temptation.
They found a tiny cantina a few streets away from their hotel. Stepping into the cool stone building, Hattie felt the exhaustion of having been out in the late afternoon heat descend onto her shoulders. She would sleep well tonight.
The walls of the cantina were painted white. A collection of mismatched chairs and tables filled the room.
“There is no one else here,’ she said.
“Most of the local population here will be resting in their homes until after sunset, we are just a little early. In an hour this place will be crowded to all four walls,” Will explained.
He ushered her over to a table in the corner. She thought it odd when he took the seat with its back to the wall, leaving her to take the one opposite. She knew enough of society's rules to know it was not the proper thing to do when out in mixed company.
While she pondered his behavior, Hattie watched as Will took a slow account of the room. His lips moved ever so slightly as he did so. Turning, she looked in the direction of his gaze.
She glanced briefly back at him before turning away once more. Had Will been counting the steps from the table to the door? She did a rough count herself and turned back to him, convinced of her theory. What sort of a man needed to know the exact number of steps from his seat to the front door; like herself, Will too had his secrets.
“No one stays in their homes in the evening here. They dress up and promenade. A bit like the five o'clock crush at Hyde Park in London during the social season. Have you ever been?” he asked.
“No,” she lied.
Only the upper crust of London society made the journey to Hyde Park in the afternoon. If she had said yes, it would have given him the perfect opening to ask whom she knew among the ton. She was not setting foot on that slippery slope.
The owner of the cantina brought them over a bottle of wine and some fresh olives before disappearing into the kitchen to cook the fish Will had chosen from the simple menu painted on the whitewashed walls.
Hattie took a sip of her wine. She had forgotten how much she used to enjoy the simple pleasure of a glass of wine at supper. Her brother Edgar had an expert nose for a good bottle of red wine.
She missed the nights when seated around the table with her parents and brother she had enjoyed the light heartedness and simple pleasure of their company.
“So?” said Will.
She looked at him and she saw a now familiar look appear on his face. His Spanish Inquisition look, she dubbed it. The relaxed Will of the afternoon was now replaced with the Will who was full of uncomfortable questions.
“Pardon?” she replied.
Whatever line of questioning Will was about to embark upon, she knew he was intent on tripping her up.
Disappointment that their easy friendship of the afternoon had been set aside stung her. She didn’t like people who played games, and it hurt to think that Will’s friendly demeanor in the cave had somehow been an act. An act to make her relax and trust him enough so that the next time he questioned her, she would slip up and reveal more of her truth.
“You were saying that your father considers wine to be the work of the devil. Yet you do not seem to share that same opinion. That must be an interesting tale to tell.”
Hattie stared down at her wine glass. What was she to say? That her father and mother had had a sudden conversion to a puritan sect of the church and had renounced all matters that they considered evil. Of the schism it had caused in the family, resulting in her brother and his wife severing all ties?
No. She would not betray what her parents believed in. Whether she fully agreed with their choices over the past few years, she still owed them some loyalty. The work they had done in saving lives and changing futures was beyond reproach.
“I don't think it is my place to tell my father's story,” she replied.
<
br /> She lifted her head and straightened her back. Hattie had a capacity for stubbornness which her mother had oftentimes mentioned as being a serious fault in her character. Even Peter had noted that once they were married, she would have to put her willfulness aside and obey him.
Will slowly blinked as he sat back in his chair. His face showed no emotion. Under the table Hattie nervously cracked her knuckles. She hated the silent, guarded type of male. To her they were always harboring ill thoughts and wishes.
“Of course,” he replied.
When the tavern owner came over with a large platter containing a lump of goat cheese, fresh tomatoes and the cooked fish, Hattie sighed with relief.
The arrival of the food had the effect she hoped it would. Will immediately ceased his interrogation of her and picked up a tomato. He cut it in half and handed a piece to Hattie.
“Coffee that's what we need,” he said, waving the tavern owner back over to their table.
“Have you lived in this part of the world for long?” she asked as soon as the tavern owner had disappeared back into the kitchen.
She could swear she heard Will mutter touché under his breath. The tables were being turned on the inquisitor.
“Not long. I tend to travel about a bit,” he replied.
Hattie concentrated on the task of displaying a disinterested air, much the same as the one Will appeared to have mastered.
“Oh. So, what do you actually do Will?” she replied.
He slowed his chewing, but other than that, showed no outward sign of discomfort.
Hattie gritted her teeth. She knew enough of the Saunders family to know Will was most certainly not a man who dealt in any sort of trade. It took serious blunt to be able to be a member of the ton. And his uncle was the Duke of Strathmore.
Two can play at that game.
“I am in the very dull trade of import and export. I travel regularly to Spain to source goods,” he replied.
Hattie cracked the knuckles of her other hand. This was becoming a game of lies she knew she could not win. She looked at Will. He sat smiling at her, the challenge to continue to play written all over his mirth filled face.
She yawned.
“I am exhausted, it has been a long day out in the sun.”
Will nodded, and yawned as well.
“I suggest we eat and then get you back to the hotel. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
After returning to their hotel and seeing Hattie safely back to her room Will decided he needed to go for a walk. A long walk.
He took the path which led from the town further along the beach and down to Rosia Bay, one of the few places on the western side of the Gibraltar peninsula that had an accessible beach.
There he kicked off his boots, rolled up his trousers and walked in the cold sea water. The sun had long set below the horizon. A golden glow lit the coastline. Somewhere nearby a local band was playing. A chorus of singers accompanied the music. The night felt magic.
The day spent with Hattie had been one of constant revelations, both about her and surprisingly himself.
She had suffered at the hands of some rogue; her fear was real. What he could not grasp was why she was not prepared to trust him.
“Am I that much of wolf?” he muttered.
He stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket, unable to shake the nagging thought in the back of his mind. There was something else about her, something unexpected.
Staring out to sea, watching as the local fishing boats headed out with the late evening tide, he sensed the truth of the effect she had on him.
He had known her all of one day; he did not even know her real name. Yet desire stirred in his blood. Every time this afternoon he had looked at her, he had been gripped with an impulse to take her into his arms once more and kiss her senseless. To run his hands over her hips and pull her hard against him.
He let a whoosh of air out of his lungs, feeling himself go hard at the mere thought of her. How was he going to survive two weeks on the ship back to England with her? He could not stay locked in his cabin the whole time.
If he was not to go mad in that time, he had to uncover all that he could of the mystery woman he had pulled from the sea. Make her reveal all her deepest secrets to him.
First thing he had to do was to discover her real name.
Then he would make her his own.
Chapter Eight
Leaving the hotel early the next morning, Will headed for the Port of Gibraltar shipping office which was situated down at the waterside.
Before they sailed this day; he was determined to get to the bottom of who Sarah really was; he was no longer convinced that it was purely the former spy in him that was driving him to get to her truth.
He knew enough about shipping movements to know that the shipping register in the port office would give him the vital information he sought.
The Blade of Orion had stayed in port for several days from his recollection. The passengers would have had to register with the local Gibraltar authorities as they came ashore. Names and places of origin would be in the registers.
He wandered leisurely up to the small grey wooden building that was the shipping office and opened the door. The Quartermaster in charge was a bald, rotund gentleman who looked to Will as if he could do with a decent night’s sleep. He fitted his naval uniform more by chance than design. Another ale or large pie and the gold buttons on his regulation blue jacket would be fit to burst. Standards since the end of the war with France had most surely slipped.
The Quartermaster shuffled over from behind his desk to where Will stood at the long wooden counter. As the Quartermaster reached the counter, Will got an unpleasant sample of the odor of stale sweat and bad breath. He took a half step back.
“Only ship’s captains and people on official naval business are allowed in here, sir,” he said.
Will noted that the ‘sir’ was added in as a mere afterthought.
With no emotion on his face, Will slid a folded piece of paper across the counter toward the Quartermaster.
Then he waited.
It took only a moment for the Quartermaster’s demeanor to change. He stopped reading and looked up at Will. A bead of nervous sweat slid down the man’s cheek.
He straightened his back and adjusted the front of his jacket. It didn’t do anything to make him look any better, but it gave Will all the understanding he needed.
“How may I help you sir?”
Will took the precious letter, personally signed by King George, and put it securely back in his jacket pocket.
“A few minutes alone with the shipping register for the past week, if you would be so kind,” he replied.
He was promptly ushered into a nearby office. The Quartermaster tidied some papers on the desk and made space for Will to sit. He then scurried off, returning as quickly as his portly legs could carry him. In his hands he bore a large green book which he placed on the desk in front of Will.
“Take as long as you like sir. Would you care for a glass of port sir?”
Will waved him away. Only navy personnel drank at this hour of the day.
Will opened the book and began to turn the pages. At the top of the page dated some six days earlier, he found the listing for the Blade of Orion. He began to search the passenger list. It did not take him long to find the travelling party which best matched the description of his suspicions.
Mr. and Mrs. Aldred Wright of London
Miss Harriet (Hattie) Wright of London
Reverend Peter Brown of London
Miss Sarah Wilson of York
He sat back in the chair and stared at the list of names.
There had been a Sarah Wilson on board the ship, that much was true. But his Sarah Wilson spoke with the accent of someone born and bred in London, not with the distinctive accent that a Yorkshire girl would be hard pressed to hide. He would bet his last penny that the real Sarah Wilson was still on board the Blade of Orion and on her way to Afric
a.
That left only one other possible name.
“Miss Hattie Wright. Pleased to meet you,” he muttered.
He took a notebook and pencil from his jacket pocket and wrote down the names of the travelling party. He was strumming his fingers contentedly on the desk when the Quartermaster returned some ten minutes later.
“Did you find what you were looking for sir?” he asked.
Will stood up from the desk and closed the book. With a flourish he presented it to the Quartermaster.
“Yes; thank you, I found exactly what I was looking for.”
Chapter Nine
Heading back to the hotel, Will spied down at the dockside, the Canis Major, the ship he had booked passage on board for Hattie and himself for the return journey to England.
He thought of the piece of paper in his pocket. It was odd to think of Sarah now being Hattie. Yet somehow the name better suited her. The time would shortly come when he would confront her about what he had discovered at the shipping office. That conversation though would have to wait until they were well out to sea. Will was taking no chances.
As he drew closer to the ship, his heart sank.
It may have been a sister ship to the Blade of Orion but that was where any similarity between the two vessels ended. While the Blade of Orion had been a sturdy, well-kept ship; the Canis Major was well past its best days.
The top of the portside of the ship, below the chains, had originally been painted a deep blue color, with gold detailing. In places patches of the paintwork were still evident, but for the most part it was either badly peeling or completely gone.
The figurehead on the bow of the ship looked like it had once been a gold painted dog holding a shield with stars picked out in red. Now half the dog’s head was missing, as was one of its legs.
Will began to reconsider the wisdom of sailing in such a vessel. He walked alongside the ship until he reached the gangplank. As a crew member walked past him, carrying a large barrel, Will stopped him.
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