The captain’s only response was to curl a contemptuous smile. He moved on to confer with the first mate, then turned abruptly as Merriweather came up from below deck and drew him aside.
Out of the corner of her eye, Arianna kept watch on the exchange. As the lieutenant spoke to him, Holden looked more and more grim-faced. After shooting a glance her way, he gave a curt reply and stalked away.
Merriweather hesitated, appearing uncomfortable.
Saybrook shifted his stance, He, too, seemed aware of the tension between the two men, while Wolff and Jelena appeared preoccupied with their own concerns.
“Pardon me for interrupting . . .” The lieutenant approached and inclined a faint nod. “The captain asked me to inform you that Mr. Diggs will be ready to escort you ashore in a quarter hour.”
“I’m quite comfortable here, so if you don’t mind, I prefer to stay on board,” responded Wolff. “Not to speak of the fact that the city is a notorious hellhole of pestilence and fever.”
Merriweather didn’t smile. “It’s not a request, milord.”
“I see.” Wolff wagged his brows. “Well, at least the quality of wine should be better on shore than it is at sea.”
Jelena looked relieved to be leaving Basilisk. And yet her eyes betrayed a ripple of some other emotion as she hurried away to gather her belongings.
Fear?
Arianna wondered what hold Grentham had over her. The minister wasn’t gratuitously cruel, but he had no compunction about exploiting vulnerability if he thought it served the Higher Good.
The trouble with Good—and Evil—was the perception was all in the eye of the beholder.
“Shall we fetch our bags?” murmured Saybrook.
* * *
The inn was a rather shabby affair, but the sheets looked free of lice, and once she had scrubbed the salt from her skin in a hip bath filled with blessedly hot water, Arianna was feeling in greater charity with the place. After donning a heavy wrapper, she took a seat by the fire in their sitting room and started to comb out her freshly washed hair.
“You know, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced of Holden’s perfidy. He appears to be a man at war with his own inner demons.”
“You may well be right . . .” Saybrook's voice floated up from behind the bathing screen. “However, as far as I'm concerned, it's a moot point. Even if he's guilty, he's a small cog in a far more complex set of gears spinning against us. Let someone else deal with him—our concern is to continue on to Elba without delay.”
Arianna bit back an ironic laugh. “You need not worry that I'm consumed with plotting revenge.” The warmth of the fire felt soothing against her skin. She wasn't looking forward to another sea journey. “Any ideas on how to do that?”
“I suggest we take a walk to where the merchant ships do their business. Smuggling is a thriving trade here, and a requisite is fast ships and savvy captains. For the right price, we’ll have no trouble leaving—perhaps even tonight.”
A half hour later, they were strolling through a crowded market, the riot of colorful merchandise and pungent scents punctuated by rapidfire haggling in a dozen different languages. Much as Arianna longed to linger over the array of exotic spices and fruits, she let Saybrook lead her down to the wharves. They passed the perimeter of the Royal Navy dockyards and followed the curl of the harbor as it led around a breakwater to another set of piers jutting out to the bay.
Saybrook slowed as the cobbled street grew narrower, his gaze on the small taverns facing the water, their once ocher-colored stucco walls faded to a dingy yellow. The air was chilly despite the sun, but men were loitering outside, drinking and smoking.
And, like her husband, watching . . .
He stopped and took a moment to survey the ships at riding anchor.
“Might I leave you unattended for a bit?” he asked. “I hear Spanish being spoken at the tavern behind us, and alas, Iberian men would look askance if I attempted to talk business in the presence of a woman.”
“I can fend for myself,” she answered dryly.
“That goes without saying. Still . . .” He slid a hand into his coat pocket and she heard a tiny metallic snick. “Be careful. Those who wish us harm have the advantage of knowing who we are.”
She nodded and jiggled her reticule. “Like you, I’ve come armed.”
“They will seek to strike hard and fast.”
“So have a great many other of our adversaries. Most of them are now dead.”
That, at least, drew a ghost of a smile.
“Go,” she urged. Negotiating passage to Elba was of paramount importance. “I won’t stray far.”
He hesitated, but only for an instant. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Arianna didn’t turn to watch where he was going. It would do him no credit. Instead, she headed toward the closest set of wharves, which were crowded with an assortment of vessels—small, swift cutters for making local deliveries along the Spanish coast, lateen-rigged galleys from North Africa, lumbering cargo ships from the Dutch West Indies, two sleek American Baltimore clippers . . .
They were designed for speed, and used for moving perishable cargo—like slaves.
Frowning, Arianna turned away and started to wander along the perimeter of the bustling harbor quay, taking in the cacophony of all the different cultures colliding in a fluttering of colors and raucous shouts. Veering off from the main square, she headed down the closest pier, where several large ships were tied up. The first two were merchant vessels, in the midst of unloading their wares. Winches groaned and sailors shouted as cargo nets laden with goods swung drunkenly through the air. To make way for the procession of wheeled dollies and their loads, she stepped back, careful to avoid the coils of rope and stacked crates crowding the slatted walkway.
Through the web of netting and rigging, she spotted the tall masts of the ship tied at the end of the pier and shifted her position for a better look. In contrast to the jumbled flurry of activity close by, the vessel appeared an oasis of well-ordered calm. Sailors were at work aloft, and supplies were being loaded, but the work seemed to thrum along with a sense of strict discipline.
As her gaze drifted down to the dark hull with its double row of gunports, she realized why.
It was the American naval frigate, looking even more sleek and powerful in the bright sunshine.
“Look, Captain—the lady seems to be admiring our ship.” The cocky drawl was colored by a Boston accent. “Shall we invite her to come have a closer look? I’m sure the crew would be happy run out our cannons for her.”
Arianna turned slowly, intent on giving the rude coxcomb a verbal kick in the teeth.
The fellow—a rather short, stocky young man with wind-tangled fair hair, was wearing a broad grin and the brass-buttoned canvas jacket of a first mate. But all other details suddenly faded to a blur as she locked eyes with the man standing just behind him.
“Well, well—so we meet again,” said an all-too-familiar voice from her past.
Chapter 13
“You look to have come up in the world since last we were together,” added Patrick Hamilton.
Shaking off her momentary dizziness, Arianna managed to match his cynical edge. “As have you.”
They had first crossed paths on the island of Curacao in the Dutch West Indies. He had been a newly-minted second lieutenant in the American navy—tall, sun-bronzed and reed-thin, with a piercing sea-green gaze that seems to cut straight to the heart of one’s marrow. His lean body looked to have filled out considerably with whipcord muscles, and the uniform proclaimed he was now a captain.
The eyes, however, hadn’t changed.
“Allow me to introduce an old friend, Gideon,” said Hamilton to his companion with a small flourish. “Miss Arianna Sprague.”
Arianna didn’t bother to correct him. She had, for a time, used her mother’s maiden name as a nom de guerre. But those hardscrabble days were in the past. No need to stir up unpleasant memories by trying to
explain.
“My first mate,” continued Hamilton. “Gideon Wright.”
Wright inclined a polite bow. “A pleasure, Miss Sprague.” As he straightened, he added, “I hope you will forgive my comment. I meant no offense.”
“Captain Hamilton will assure you that my sensibilities are not those of a delicate lady. I am not easily offended.”
“Er . . .” The first mate cleared his throat with an uncertain cough. “Excellent, excellent.”
“Are you currently residing in Gibraltar?” asked Hamilton.
“No.” The less said, the better. She was already shifting her stance to make a retreat.
“We, too, are just passing through,” offered Wright. “We’re on our way to the isle of Elba.”
Of all the bloody, bloody luck.
“It’s Boney’s new little empire, y’know.”
“Yes, so I have heard,” answered Arianna dryly.
Wright’s face pinched in embarrassment. “I—I did not mean to imply that, er—”
“That I’m a feather-brained widgeon?” she said. “I would certainly hope not.”
“Don’t be unkind to the poor fellow, Arianna,” said Saybrook as he rounded a stack of large crates.
Damnation—the Devil had a perverse sense of humor. She had been hoping that his negotiations would detain him a little longer.
“Especially as he had a hand in saving you from the horrors of being sold into the Dey’s harem,” added the earl.
“Let us not descend into melodrama, sir,” she said.
Hamilton’s eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted from the earl back to her. “You were on board the British post ship?”
Ignoring the captain’s question, she turned to Saybrook and flashed a warning look. “Come, I’m sure these men are anxious to return to their ship—”
“By the by, I am Captain Hamilton,” said her old friend—or rather, her former friend. They had not parted on good terms.
The earl accepted the preferred hand. “Lord Saybrook.”
“Lord? That’s an odd Christian name,” murmured Wright.
“It’s not a name, it’s an English title, Gideon,” said Hamilton. His mouth curled in a mocking half-smile. “You have come up in the world, Miss Sprague.”
Saybrook raised a questioning brow at her. By the look on Hamilton’s face, he had caught it, too.
Arianna took the earl’s arm—she couldn’t care less whether Hamilton thought her a strumpet—and gave him a small nudge. “We really should be going, milord.”
The captain, however, seemed loath to let them go. “Were you, too, a passenger on Basilisk, Lord Saybrook?”
It was Wright who answered. “By Jove, yes! Now I recall why you both look familiar.” A triumphant grin. “I saw you through my spyglass, standing at the rail of the quarterdeck of the British ship.”
The earl confirmed it with a nod. “My compliments to your crew, Mr. Wright. And to your captain. It was a very impressive display of seamanship and gunnery.”
“Our navy has no love lost for yours,” replied Hamilton. “But pirates are the scourge of the oceans. I wasn’t about to let them plunder and pillage a ship right in front of my nose.
“How fortuitous that you were close by.”
A shrug.
“And how fortuitous that you had heard that the treaty between our two countries had been signed,” said Arianna.
“Yes, we had put in at Tenerife to take on water and supplies, and learned the news,” answered Hamilton, though his attention remained riveted on Saybrook.
Wondering, perhaps, what the relationship was?
Let him wonder, thought Arianna.
“I’m curious, Lord Saybrook,” went on the captain. “Isn’t it unusual for a naval post ship to be carrying passengers?”
“Somewhat,” answered the earl. “However, my reasons for traveling to Elba were pressing, and as my uncle is a senior minister in the Foreign Office, accommodations were made.”
“What reasons, if may ask?” Hamilton’s smile held a challenge. “Or is it a state secret?”
“Not at all. I’m making a scientific survey of plant life on the Mediterranean islands, and a number of the specimens I wish to study have a very limited season.”
“Then it’s a pity you will miss them,” piped up Wright. “I heard from Basilisk’s bosun that the schedule of repairs will keep the ship from sailing for at least a week.”
“I thought that might be the case,” replied Saybrook. “I am working on arranging other transportation.”
Hamilton’s expression turned unreadable as he rubbed at his chin. And then, he asked abruptly, “Lord Saybrook, might I have a private word with your . . . traveling companion?”
“Ask me, not him, Captain Hamilton,” she snapped, deciding any further cat and mouse maneuverings were pointless. “Whatever else has changed, I still make decisions for myself.”
“Mr. Wright, perhaps if we move around those barrels, we’ll have a better view of your ship,” suggested Saybrook smoothly. “I should like for you to explain why you use a different arrangement of sails . . .”
“You have him well-trained,” remarked Hamilton as the two men strolled away.
“You’re jumping to conclusions without knowing the facts,” said Arianna softly. “That can be dangerous . . . as you should have learned from your past mistakes.”
His eyes blazed for an instant. And then he let out a grudging laugh. “You weren't a mistake. You were an utter disaster.” He drew in a long breath. “Like a hurricane—a wild and beautiful force of nature, destroying everything in your path.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He looked away to the sea. “It’s all water under the bridge.”
Perhaps. But the question was how much damage the waves had done.
“In fact, to show there are no hard feelings, I’m happy to offer you and your lord passage on my frigate. We sail with the morning tide, two hours before dawn.”
A generous offer. One that common sense said she ought to accept. And yet she hesitated.
“We are a fast ship,” murmured Hamilton. “With the teeth to scare off any jackals hunting for vulnerable prey.”
“Thank you.” Arianna conceded that she might be making a mistake. However, mistakes seemed to be what tied them to together. “But Lord Saybrook is a very resourceful man, and I’m sure he has the matter well in hand.”
Hamilton shifted his stance to allow a heavily laden cart to rattle by, accompanied by much muttered cursing from the sweating sailors handling the ropes.
“Suit yourself,” he said once it had passed. After a vague gesture—a silent salute or merely a dismissal?—he turned away.
She expelled a harried sigh. “Captain Hamilton . . .”
He hesitated, and then looked back over his shoulder.
“Let us not part as enemies.”
“I’m not your enemy.” His mouth quirked. “Though I’ll be damned if I can find a word to describe what we are to each other.”
“Life is rarely simple enough to define in words.”
“And being a simple fellow,” responded Hamilton, “ I find that befuddles me.”
This time, Arianna made no attempt to stop him as he walked away.
* * *
Saybrook finished off the last spoonful of his fish stew and reached for his wine glass. “Do you care to talk about our recent encounter with the Americans?” he asked, after taking a long swallow.
“Not particularly.” Arianna crumbled a bit of the crusty bread between his fingers. The harborside tavern’s food was surprisingly good. “But it would be both unfair and unkind not to.”
Light caught the swirl of burgundy as he took another sip.
“I know Hamilton from my youthful travels in the West Indies,” she said. “But I daresay you gathered that.”
“Yes.” His expression was impossible to read. “The ‘Miss Sprague’ was rather a dead giveaway.”
“My mother’s
maiden name. It seemed safer at the time that no one know the connection to my father.”
“Speaking of ‘know' . . .” A pause. “I would venture to guess that regarding Hamilton, you mean ‘know' in the Biblical sense.” He leaned back in his chair. “And before you tell me it's none of my business—which, of course, it isn't—I only ask in case it's a relevant piece of information to piece into the puzzle of our mission.”
Arianna wished to assure him it wasn’t. But honesty compelled her to admit the truth. “It might be, so yes, you ought to know that we were lovers for a short while. I ended it . . .”
She took a sip of her wine, savoring its mellow richness on her tongue before adding, “I ended it by stealing his purse while he was sleeping and sailing off in the dead of night on a trading schooner bound for Barbados.”
“I imagine you had your reasons,” he murmured.
“He professed to be in love. While, as you know, the only emotion I had room for in my heart at that time was the desire for revenge.”
Saybrook nodded. “A very difficult choice.”
She met his gaze. “Actually, it wasn’t. Patrick Hamilton is a very good man, but we would never have suited. I am too . . .”
“Complicated?” he suggested with a faint smile.
As Hamilton had pointed out, words could be devilishly inadequate.
“I’m sorry.”
The earl set down his glass. And then slowly took her hand in his. “I’m not.”
The warm press of his fingers sent a shiver of gooseflesh up her arm. “Even though I’m contradictory, willful, stubborn and reckless—just to name a few of my faults?” she asked.
His smile became more pronounced. “In my experience, perfection is naught but a bore. It’s all the little faults and flaws that make life infinitely interesting.”
A pinch of guilt tightened her throat. She had deliberately omitted ‘less than forthright’ from her list of sins, as she was still uncertain of how to dispel that shadow between them.
Instead, she pushed aside the dilemma and said, “You may want to revise your thinking after you hear what I have to say next. Hamilton offered us passage to Elba. However, I . . . I assumed your efforts to find an alternative would be successful.”
Smoke & Lies Page 11
