“Still here though, aren’t I?” John asks but George doesn’t answer. He knows that this time, only one of them is going to get out of the mess they are in. The authorities only need one of them to give evidence. This time, George vows, he will save his brother.
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“What do you mean we can’t set sail yet?” a male passenger argued with Captain Harris as he heard the news about the delayed departure.
“As I have said, sir. It is beyond my ability to force the hand of the harbour master. He will give us leave to sail when it is appropriate,” Harris replied.
“And what, may I ask, are we to do in the mean time?” the man asked. He was a portly gentleman, with such deep acne scars on his cheeks that Harris wasn’t sure if they weren’t smallpox scars.
“You may take up residence in your cabin and use the ship as you might a hotel. Other than that, I am afraid there is little I can do for you at this time,” Harris said, a little sharper than he meant to. The man turned and walked toward his equally portly wife and the two began a heated discussion. Apparently the complaint the gentleman had been making had originated from his wife. Harris walked slowly away from the couple in the same manner as Lord Nelson had been reputed to do on the deck of the Victory. Slowly, not wishing to be seen hurrying in the face of danger. He did, however, wish to put as much space between himself and the couple as possible.
Stephen Wright stepped up to Harris, thankfully wishing for his attention.
“All but a few of the passengers are on board now, sir,” the first mate informed Harris.
“How are they taking the news of the delay?” Harris asked.
“Most of them have been very understanding, I’ve had a few less than pleased but I’ve informed them that their tickets allow for unforeseen delays,” Stephen answered.
“You see, Stephen, there are times when I bless the fact that you are here. Why on earth didn’t I think of telling people that?”
“Because, sir, you have bigger things to think about. If you wish to retire to your cabin, I’m sure the crew and I can deal with the passengers.”
Harris thought for a moment before declining the offer, he would be happier on the deck, especially if there was the chance of more criminals on board. As he was saying this, however, a beautiful but forlorn looking figure appeared on the deck. Rose was dressed in a black shawl and was carrying a bag, evidently she intended to leave the ship. Harris was about to step toward her but Stephen spoke in his ear.
“Allow me, sir,” the first mate said.
Harris felt an inexplicable sword thrust of jealousy. Why should he allow his junior officer to talk to the most beautiful creature he had ever had aboard one of his ships? His rank alone should mean he was the one who got to spend time with her. He shook his head and his senses came back to him. This was a married woman and he was the captain of the ship. Never once had he behaved in anything but the most correct manner with a female guest and that would not change now.
“If you would please, Mr. Wright. Do be gentle with her though, there’s a good man,” he said with a smile that felt just a little forced.
Stephen nodded and stepped forward to take Rose’s arm. She began to cry almost as soon as he did so. He led her away from the other guests as quickly as was civil and Harris watched her go with a pang.
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Sergeant Brooks lined his men up in the harbour master’s office. They looked at least as much of a motley crew as the men they were about to arrest. Every one of them was honest and good at their job though, well, at least competent. They had found all but their last suspect and now they had good information that said he would be aboard the Madagascar.
“Men, you know who we are here for and you all know what he looks like. I’d like to think that this will go easy, but who knows with George Wilson? If you get the chance to knock him out, then I suggest you take it. Wilson is not as placid as George Francis and not as charming as John. He was part of the gang as muscle, remember that when you get close to him. There are a lot of guests aboard and plenty of chances for it all to go wrong. Don’t do anything rash and we can get him off that ship without anyone getting hurt.” There was a general shuffling of feet and clearing of throats that normally meant they all got the message. “Good, we walk up the harbour, nice and easy, don’t draw attention to yourselves. Nobody does anything until I do.”
Don’t draw attention to yourself. The words rang around Brooks’ head like the punchline to a joke. A dozen big, burly, men stomping along the harbour, all looking at the same ship, couldn’t help but draw attention to themselves. There was nothing he could do about it now, he thought. The ship was no more than a minute’s walk ahead, in any case.
As they reached the Madagascar, the first thing Brooks saw was Rose Francis. She was crying and had the attention of the captain and another member of the crew. The crew member had walked toward her and was trying to console her.
More important than the captain’s attention, was that of the passengers. There were roughly thirty passengers on the deck and almost all of them were looking at the divine Rose Francis.
Brooks spotted his target immediately, he was looking at Rose. At first, a look of recognition crossed George Wilson’s craggy face. Then it seemed to dawn on him that if Rose was upset, then there was something wrong. His first instinct was to flee, Brooks saw his feet begin to move toward the harbour and escape. Wilson then saw Brooks and his men standing in his way and an agonised look of panic crossed his face. Brooks swore later that Wilson didn’t even know he was going to grab the woman until he did it, he had a knife out and to her throat before Brooks could get within thirty feet of him.
She was an elderly woman, well dressed and upright in her manner. She spoke before Brooks had the chance to say anything.
“Young man, if the late Lord Worthington were here he would have you thrashed for holding that thing to my throat. Kindly remove yourself from my person,” she said in a voice that Brooks would have found hard to disobey. He almost felt sorry for the man, he felt sure the old woman was sharper than the blade Wilson held.
“Take it easy, Wilson, don’t make it harder on yourself,” Brooks said in a calm voice.
“Harder? How could it be harder?” Wilson asked, sounding panicked.
“Do you really want to go down for murder? Come in and talk to us. We can sort this mess out,” Brooks said. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the crew member who had been talking to Rose, edging around the back of Wilson. Brooks began to edge forward, hoping to keep all of Wilson’s attention on him.
“I’m not going down for anything, copper, get out of my way and let me leave or this old girl gets it,” Wilson said, regaining some of his bravado. Despite years in Australia, his cockney accent was still thick and heavy.
“Who, exactly, are you calling old girl?” Lady Worthington asked. “You will address me as Lady Worthington, if you please.”
Brooks felt his heart drop, Wilson seemed to have missed the implication when the old girl had mentioned Lord Worthington but he didn’t miss it a second time.
“Lady, aye? My lucky day then, Brooks?” Wilson said with a smile. “You going to let me kill one of the aristocracy, are you?” he said as he began to edge himself toward the harbour and freedom.
“Don’t be stupid, Wilson, I can’t let you go,” Brooks said to him, but knew that Wilson had the upper hand.
“Mr. Brooks?” Lady Worthington asked.
“Sergeant Brooks,” he answered, nodding.
“My apologies, Sergeant Brooks,” said Lady Worthington, seemingly unconcerned about the knife to her throat. “I would like it to be known, in front of all of these witnesses, that I would rather die than see this man escape the ship.”
Brooks almost felt his mouth drop open at the courage the old lady was showing but, as the crewman stepped up behind Wilson, he was sure it
wouldn’t come to that. The crewman reached around and grasped the arm hard enough that Wilson couldn’t accidentally slice the old lady’s throat as he fell. He then brought a billy club round with his other hand and hit Wilson solidly enough that Brooks wasn’t sure he hadn’t killed him. Wilson hit the deck with a thump and everyone on the ship seemed to let out a breath at the same time.
A young man rushed forward to grasp Lady Worthington by the arm with a cry of, “Mother!” but she brushed him aside, showing no ill effects from her ordeal.
Brooks stepped forward and saw that Wilson was still breathing. “Put irons on him and take him away,” he said to Constable Smith. Turning to Captain Harris he said, “Thank you, Captain. If it is okay with you, I will have a look down the passenger list, then if everything seems in order, I will allow you to leave.”
“Do you have all of your suspects then, sergeant?” Captain Harris asked.
“I believe we do, Captain,” Brooks answered.
“Good job, then. Very good job. If you’ll follow me to my cabin, I will furnish you with the appropriate paperwork.” As he turned toward his cabin, Harris turned to look for Mr. Wright and Rose, with another stab of jealousy he saw neither were on deck.
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