THREE HEROES

by Jo Beverley

  Lord Vandeimen left, and Hawk looked around the room. “I wonder if anyone but Susan knows how to handle a boat.”

  “She’s a smuggler?” Clarissa asked tentatively.

  “Just closely connected,” said Hawk with a smile that was partly excitement. “We’ve cut through her lines at last. We’ll have this all tight by evening.”

  Time returned to creeping in halting steps. Clarissa kept thinking of the children, wondering if they were still drugged—which would be dangerous—or frightened, or hungry. If they were on a boat, were they safe or could they fall overboard and drown? Were there rats?

  She knew it must be much worse for the Delaneys, but they seemed to have found a stoic calm as they waited.

  Con and Susan returned first. “I made contact eventually,” Susan said. “I had to persuade Con to go away. He has far too much of a military look about him. I put the word out and offered a reward, but no one would say anything directly. They’ll send word here if there’s anything.”

  “Can you sail a fishing boat?” Hawk asked.

  “Of course,” she said, as if it were the most common thing.

  “We weren’t all raised by the sea, you know. With any luck, Van has found us a boat. We need to be on the water this evening when the payment is made.” He looked out of the window at the sea, choppy and gray on this miserable day. There were plenty of boats bobbing at anchor. Clarissa wondered which ones held the villain and the hostages, and what would happen if they searched them all.

  Disaster, probably.

  Then Lord Vandeimen returned. “The Pretty Anna,” he said, eyes bright. “I can point it out.”

  “We’ve hired it?” Hawk asked.

  “No. We’ve hired the Seahorse. The Pretty Anna is probably where Dare and the children are. The young man who owns it has been acting strange recently. Not going out fishing on good days, disappearing now and then. Talking about traveling. Yesterday he talked to one man about selling the Pretty Anna to him.”

  “Show us.”

  Everyone crowded to the window, and Lord Vandeimen pointed out one small boat among many, but that one had the dull glimmer of a lantern, showing that someone must be on board.

  “Can we go?” Eleanor asked. “Now?”

  But there was a new knock on the door. There seemed to be a confusion of footsteps, then the door opened. “A message for Mr. Delaney,” the footman announced, the paper on a silver tray.

  Nicholas strode over to take it.

  “And,” intoned the footman, “there’s a man at the back door asking after Lady Amleigh.”

  Susan rushed out, pushing the footman out of the way. Someone shut the door on him. Everyone looked at Nicholas.

  “She must have caught wind of our tack. It’s the Pretty Anna, now, with whatever valuables we have. No promise of telling us where the hostages are.” He looked at Clarissa. “You and I are to take the ransom, dressed in only the lightest clothes.”

  “Clarissa?” said Hawk. “That’s not acceptable.”

  “I agree,” said Nicholas. “I’ll go alone.”

  “No. If she wants me, I have to go. We can’t risk the children.”

  “She probably has no intention of telling us where they are,” Hawk said. “And with luck, we can find them with the other boat.”

  “Luck is not acceptable.”

  “Use some sense! She’ll probably take you as a new hostage.”

  “I’d die first,” said Nicholas.

  “So you’d be dead. What good would that be?”

  Silence crackled.

  Clarissa put her hands on his arm. “Hawk, I have to go. With or without your blessing.”

  He glared at her, but then brought himself under control. “All right. I go with Susan. I’m a strong swimmer. If we can close, I can swim over.”

  “You’ll need weapons,” Nicholas said.

  Hawk’s knife appeared in his hand.

  Nicholas said, “I have something similar upstairs. But Clarissa could do with one too.”

  Clarissa shook her head. “I can’t use a knife on someone.”

  “You can if you have to.”

  “I’ll get something from the kitchen,” Maria said and hurried away.

  Susan came in, bright with excitement. “We’ve got her! She’s paying Sam Pilcher to take her to France. He has a fast cutter he claims can outrun the navy. He was taken with her charms, but he’s beginning to wonder.”

  “Is she on the boat now?” Nicholas asked.

  “No. He’s just been sent word that she’ll be there in the hour. But,” she added, “he swears there’s no one else on the boat now. He’ll take someone of ours out there to capture her.”

  “I’ll go,” said Lord Vandeimen, clearly itching for action.

  “And I,” said Major Beaumont.

  Susan went out with them to introduce them. Clarissa heard her instructing them not to act like military men.

  “So,” said Hawk, “she has them on the Pretty Anna. She’ll plan to take the money there, then probably be rowed over to the other ship. Susan can block that as soon as we have the hostages. I don’t think it will be so easy.”

  “She’ll take Arabel with her,” Nicholas suggested.

  “It’s possible. You have to kill her, you know. She’s a viper. You can’t take her to court, and if she gets away you’ll never know when she’ll be back, more vengeful than before.”

  “You can’t doubt I will if necessary.”

  Maria came back with a handful of knives. “Cook’s in tears.”

  The note specified that Clarissa was to wear only a dress—no spencer or cloak. Nicholas was to be in breeches and shirt. Few places to hide weapons. No place to hide a pistol.

  Soon Clarissa had a narrow knife tucked down her gown in front of her corset, carefully pinned in place in a kind of sheath. The heavy linen protected her from the blade, but she could feel it, hard and unnatural.

  “I still don’t think I could use it,” she said to Hawk, who had put it there without a hint that he found it arousing.

  He looked at her, all officer. “Don’t let her hurt you without a fight. Go for the face. She’s vain. For the eyes with your fingers and nails. If this works properly, however, I’ll be there to take care of you.”

  He kissed her fiercely and left with Con and Susan for the Seahorse. Clarissa saw Jetta streak to catch up and hoped the cat truly was descended from an ancient Chinese warrior line.

  Nicholas had two knives tucked away. They gathered the money and jewels into a heavy leather bag.

  “We’ll delay a little,” he said to Clarissa. “Give the others time. But we can’t wait too long. All right?”

  Clarissa felt the electricity of fear, and wasn’t sure if it was bad or good. “Yes. I suffer terribly from impatience, though. I want to get on with it.”

  “Let’s go, then.” He went to kiss his wife.

  As he swept Clarissa out of the room, however, she saw the expression on Eleanor Delaney’s face. She looked as if she feared that she would never see her husband again.

  Chapter Thirty

  The rain was a weary drizzle, soft but chill. They crossed the deserted Parade to the seafront, then headed right. “Now that we’re out here there’s no need to hurry. She’s probably watching through a telescope, and if she sees we’re doing the right things, it will be all right.”

  Clarissa scanned the choppy gray sea for Hawk and Susan, but there were so many boats, and she couldn’t even tell if most of them were moving or not.

  “Why did Eleanor look so very frightened?” she asked. “Did she think we’re to be murdered?” She was proud of her level tone.

  Nicholas looked at her. “It’s old history. I got on a boat with Therese Bellaire once before and she didn’t see me for six months. She thought I was dead. We’re on a basis of truth, aren’t we? The truth is that Therese might want me dead, but she certainly wants to taunt me, to finally prove that she can win. I don’t think she wishes you harm. I think
she wants a witness, and she’ll be as unpleasant, as lewd, as she can be. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Who can say? If I’d had the sense not to dally with her so many years ago… Hawk was right, though. If necessary, don’t hesitate to hurt her.”

  He stopped and looked out to sea. “That’s the Pretty Anna, and there’s our boat.” He pointed to a dinghy tied up at a wooden jetty.

  “All details taken care of,” she said, and they hurried in that direction.

  Clarissa shivered. In part it was because the rain had soaked her light dress, and the breeze was cold. It was also because of that waiting boat, because they were walking a path created by the evil Madame Bellaire.

  She scanned the water again and saw no other boat swooping in. Of course it was too soon.

  Their footsteps rattled on the uneven planks of the jetty, and then they were above the boat, a rough wooden ladder leading down.

  “Can you manage it?” Nicholas asked.

  “I’ll have to, won’t I?”

  “I’ll go first,” he said, and climbed nimbly down with the bag of loot.

  Clarissa took a deep breath and eased herself over onto the ladder. “Give thanks,” she said, “that Miss Mallory’s School for Ladies believes in physical exercise and womanly strength.”

  The ladder was rough beneath her hands, and the wind swirled, seeming to snatch at her, making her skirts snag on rough edges. She went steadily down, letting the fine cotton rip if it had to. Another dress ruined.

  At the bottom, Nicholas gripped her waist and eased her into the swaying, bouncing boat. He settled her on one bench, then took the other and swung the oars over the water.

  She clung to the sides, feeling sure it would tip with the next wave. “I’ve never been in a boat before.”

  “There are worse things,” he said with a smile, and started to pull.

  “I can’t swim, either.” The boat bucked, and she held on tighter, determined not to scream. Were they making any progress against this rough water? And how was everyone else? The children. Lord Darius. Hawk.

  From above, the sea had seemed choppy. From down here, the waves seemed huge.

  “Hawk said he would swim in this?”

  “He’ll be all right,” Nicholas said, rowing in an easy rhythm. “He said he is a strong swimmer, and I don’t think he’s the boastful type.”

  A wave slapped and drenched her hand. They were getting nearer to the Pretty Anna, but not quickly enough for her. A viper waited, and perhaps a test of courage, but it looked so much more solid than this swaying, bouncing little boat.

  Nicholas’s drenched shirt clung to his body, a body, she noted, as well made as Hawk’s. It pleased her, but it didn’t excite her. Please, God, let Hawk be safe. Please, God, let them save the children and Lord Darius.

  Please, if that’s what it takes, let the Frenchwoman have the jewels and money, and go. Go far, far away. She knew Hawk wanted her stopped, but Clarissa was with Nicholas in simply wanting this over.

  “Do you see anything?” Nicholas asked.

  Clarissa snapped out of her thoughts and looked at the boat, twenty feet away. “No sign of anyone.”

  “Keep looking.”

  She scanned the simple boat with the small shedlike room and a tall mast. A lantern bobbed, but the vessel looked completely empty. If Nicholas was right that Therese Bellaire wanted to gloat, she had to be there somewhere.

  Their boat jarred against the Anna, and Nicholas tied it up close to a ladder. “I’d better go first,” he said.

  “No,” said a familiar French voice. “The girl first, with the ransom.”

  Clarissa started to shake and tried desperately not to. After a shared look with Nicholas, she put the satchel across her chest and gripped the ladder. It was harder going up than down. She felt heavy, and her hands were aching with cold. She made it, though, and scrambled over the top to tumble awkwardly onto the deck.

  She struggled to her feet. “I’m here,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t shake. “With the money.”

  She heard a sound and whirled, but it was only Nicholas beside her.

  “Therese?” he said, sounding completely at ease. “At your service, as always.”

  A woman ducked out of the small covered area. She wore an encompassing cloak, but Clarissa could hardly believe it was Mrs. Rowland. The skin was clear, and even glowing in the chilly air. The eyes seemed huge, the lips full and red. In a chilling way, she was very beautiful.

  “Nicky, darling,” she said. And he’d been right. She was gloating. Clarissa fought a desperate battle not to look around for the Seahorse, which carried Susan and Hawk.

  The woman stepped a little closer, and a man emerged behind her. A handsome man. Young, but tall and strong, and with a pistol in his hand.

  “These the ones, then?” he said in a local accent. “The ones who stole your money?”

  “Yes,” she purred. “But they have returned part of it, so we need not be too harsh. Come forward, my dear, and give me the bag.”

  Clarissa shrugged it off so it was in her hands, then walked forward. She suspected what was going to happen here. When she got close, the man would grab her and Nicholas would be at the woman’s mercy.

  She dropped the bag on the deck a few feet from the Frenchwoman’s feet.

  The dark eyes narrowed. “Bring it to me.”

  “Why? That’s it. Take it and go.”

  “If you don’t bring it to me, I will not tell you where the children are, where Lord Darius Debenham is.”

  “Do I care?” Clarissa asked, drawing on experience of the most silly, heartless schoolgirls she’d ever known. “You’re taking my money. You say it’s yours, but it’s mine, and you’re stealing it.”

  The young man started to speak, and Therese hissed at him to be silent. “It is mine. I worked hard for that money, and you did nothing. Nothing! You didn’t even kill Deveril. Now pick up that bag and bring it to me.”

  “Make me.”

  Therese smiled. “Samuel, shoot the man.”

  The young man blanched, but his pistol rose.

  Clarissa snatched up the bag from the deck.

  “That’s better,” said Therese. “You see, it does not pay to fight me. You cannot win. Bring it here.”

  Clarissa walked forward as slowly as she dared, willing Hawk to appear. She was about to put the bag into the Frenchwoman’s hand, when the man said, “Here! What’re you doing?”

  Clarissa turned to see that Nicholas had unfastened the flap in his breeches and was undoing the drawers beneath. “This is what you want, Therese, isn’t it?”

  The Frenchwoman seemed transfixed. Not by the sight—Clarissa could tell that—but by satisfaction. “Yes. Strip.”

  Nicholas continued to unfasten his clothing, slowly, seductively. Clarissa realized she was gaping and looked quickly at the young man. He was red-faced. He suddenly jerked the pistol up and aimed it.

  Clarissa swung the heavy bag and knocked the weapon flying into the sea.

  Samuel howled and rushed at her. She dodged, fell, and quite by accident slipped behind Madame Bellaire so he ran into her.

  He howled again, staggering back. Clarissa saw blood.

  “Oaf!” the Frenchwoman spat, a bloodstained knife in her hand.

  Nicholas had a knife out too, and Clarissa saw a boat sweeping close, sails full. It looked as if it was going to crash into them. Not with the children surely here!

  She scrambled up and ran for the shed, but she was grabbed and hauled back. She saw the knife in Madame Bellaire’s hand and knew she should be terrified. She thought she heard someone bellow, “Clarissa!”

  Hawk.

  Go for the eyes. She scratched the woman’s face as hard as she could.

  The Frenchwoman shrieked and Clarissa was free. She ran, but tripped over the bag of treasure.

  Then Madame Bellaire was coming at her again, livid scratches on her face, a face ugly with furious ha
te.

  Nicholas was running forward, but the man Samuel, blood still streaming down his side, threw himself at him.

  It all seemed slow, but Clarissa did the only thing she could. She threw the bag.

  It hit the woman, staggering her, then fell, spilling gold and jewels.

  Madame Bellaire froze for a moment, staring at it. Clarissa fumbled for her knife, catching it on every edge, it seemed, as she struggled to get it free.

  Then something jarred the boat, and Hawk landed on the deck. He grabbed the woman’s arm, but she twisted, knife lunging. A black shape flew through the air at her face, and she screamed.

  Hawk tore the spitting cat away, trapped the woman in his arms, turned her…

  And threw her, suddenly limp, over the side.

  When he turned back, the knife was gone.

  It wasn’t quiet. The wind rattled the assorted bits of the boat, and the waves slapped hard at the sides. But the people were silent, even the young man, Samuel, who’d been fighting Nicholas in the cause of the woman who had stabbed him.

  “What have you done with her?” he cried, and staggered over to look out at the sea.

  Hawk and Nicholas looked at each other.

  “She was beautiful to me once,” Nicholas said, fastening his clothing. “But thank you.”

  Samuel was weeping.

  But then a faint voice cried, “Papa!” and Nicholas ran for the shed that must contain the steps.

  Clarissa watched in a daze as the Amleighs climbed over the side of the boat. They must have rowed over. Susan began to do things to the boat, but her husband raced below.

  Clarissa looked at Hawk.

  He said, “Yes, I killed her. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”

  “I’ll grow accustomed.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “God, love, I pray not!”

  They clung together as things happened around them, and then Nicholas was on deck, a wan child clinging to him, and the boat was under one sail and moving carefully toward the jetty.

  Con brought the other two children up, and they huddled close to each other, but Clarissa separated from Hawk and sat down to hold out her arms. After a moment they came forward. Hawk sat beside her, and soon Delphie was in her lap, Pierre in Hawk’s.