Rage boiled up like liquid fire; then a wave of guilt hit Ailish, extinguishing the flames. She’d known Rufus Dalton was evil. She should have done something more, made her father listen. She, of all people, should have heeded her feelings, but no, she’d ignored the warning and now her dear, sweet father had paid the price.
She heard the pain in his voice and wondered if it was because of the blow on his head or the loss of the wonderful statue. Either way, it was up to her to fix the problem. She owed him that.
“Don’t you worry about your treasure, Da. I’ll get it back.”
And as Ailish ran for help, she vowed she would.
2
Secret Message
…. --- .-- -- ..- -.-. …. -- --- -. . -.-- -.. .. -.. .--. .- -.. -.. -.-- …. .- …- .
Ailish wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing leaving her injured father with Mrs. Murphy, but if she were going to find Dalton, she had to act fast. Pulling her paisley shawl over her head to ward off the chill, she ran through the pre-dawn darkness to the dock. She had to stop the low dog before he made it back to his ship.
Rounding a tall stack of crates, she saw an early morning dockworker busily writing on a piece of paper. “Excuse me, sir,” she asked, her breathing laboured from her run. “Have ye seen a bloke called Rufus Dalton? My da sent me to give him a message.”
“You’re too late, miss.” He nodded in the direction of the harbour.
Ailish looked to the sea and there, silhouetted by the thin strip of pink dawn light, a small ship steamed out of the bay. She knew it would be the ferry to the huge cable-laying ship, docked far out in the bay because of its size.
“Oh no, no, no!” she wailed, watching as her quarry slipped like quicksilver from her grasp. “He can’t get away this easily!”
Concern at her plea was plain on the sailor’s face as he tried to reassure her. “Come now, don’t fret, lass. I work on the Great Eastern and will be taking these last crates out to her before we sail. Tell me your message and I’ll give it to Dalton when I see him.” His rich Irish brogue was warm and friendly.
Ailish shook her head dejectedly. “Don’t trouble yourself, sir. You were right, it’s too late.” She turned and slowly walked away.
She’d failed. It was her fault her father had been hurt and now she had to tell him she’d let their hope for the future sail away.
Climbing atop one of the wooden crates, Ailish sat and tried to think of what to do next. She had to get that statue back, but how? As she wiggled trying to get more comfortable, the rough wood snagged her pantalets tearing a small hole in the undergarment. She pulled her dress further down to hide the tiny embarrassment and as she did so, the lid wobbled. The crate must not be nailed shut.
Jumping off, she pushed on the heavy cover and managed to move it enough to look inside. The crate held bits and bobs of machinery, but there was enough room for a thin girl to hide within. She smiled as a crazy idea flashed into her mind.
She’d follow Dalton to the ship; then while they were unloading the cargo, she’d find the statue, steal it back, and return to shore with the ferry before anyone was the wiser.
Checking to make sure the dockworker was busy, Ailish clambered into the large box, sliding the lid back into place behind her. A crack in her wooden canopy let a tiny sliver of early morning light into the crowded compartment and the smell of the fresh salt air had a tang to it. If this crate was going to the Great Eastern, then so was she.
Yawning, she settled in to wait.
– - • – –
Ailish awoke with a start. Rubbing her eyes, she uncurled and tried to stretch her cramped muscles.
The air smelled differently now. She caught a whiff of oil and the bite of metal. She must already be aboard the ship, which meant it was time to find Rufus Dalton and the treasure. Struggling to her knees, Ailish reached over her head and pushed on the lid.
It wouldn’t move.
She pushed again, but still the stubborn wood refused to budge.
Fear prickled her scalp as she looked up. No splinter of light showed through the rough-hewn boards. Furtively searching, she found an empty knothole in the side of the crate. Pressing her eye to the opening, Ailish peered out.
She was indeed in the Great Eastern’s cavernous hold surrounded by stacks of boxes in all sizes and shapes. But if there was no light coming through the lid, that could mean only one thing – another crate was piled on top of hers.
She was trapped!
Should she call out? Who would hear? And if they did rescue her, she knew they’d send her back to shore before she had a chance to find what she’d come for. The thought of Dalton getting away made her hold her tongue. She’d wait a while at least, and hope someone came to move the top crate and free her from this wooden prison.
Time crawled painfully past while she listened to the clangs and bangs as the ship was loaded.
Finally, Ailish could wait no longer. She had to use the privy and that meant getting out of her wooden nest before she had a mortifying accident. If she had to give herself away, so be it. At that moment, she heard footsteps loudly clomping down metal stairs and then coming toward her across the iron floor. Panic seized her. Was it Dalton? After what he’d done to her father, she knew he was capable of terrible violence.
Carefully, she put her eye to the knothole, afraid of whom she’d discover on the other side.
Relief bubbled up like soapsuds. It was the same kind sailor from the dock. Ailish scrunched her eyes and reached out with her mind. She felt no darkness, no shadows from this man which was a very good thing as there was no choice. She had to call to him for help.
Ailish wasn’t sure how she’d explain being bunged up in that crate, but something would come to her. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to yell, when a bone-racking shiver sliced down her back, freezing the air in her lungs.
Another set of footsteps was approaching.
“Well, if it isn’t Paddy Whelan. I’ve been lookin’ for you.”
The growl was unmistakable. This time, it was Rufus Dalton.
Ailish peeked through her spy hole. The man Dalton addressed was her rescuer. Paddy Whelan, a fine Irish name! She felt as if they were friends already.
“Who told you to come down here?” the Englishman asked tersely.
“That’s a good question,” Paddy replied. “I received a message, an unsigned note telling me to go below and stow this more securely.” He stepped forward; there was a scraping sound and a shaft of light slid through the crack in the lid of Ailish’s hideaway. “Someone was worried it would fall over and smash if we hit rough water. They must not know much about this ship.” Paddy set the crate he was holding into an empty corner, then started back toward the stairs.
“Wait right there, sailor.” Dalton took one long stride, reached out a meaty hand and spun Paddy around. “I’m cable crew chief and I’ll tell you when you can go.”
From her secret vantage point, Ailish saw Paddy’s jaw muscles tighten in a very distinct way. If the man had hackles, they would have been up.
“I found out a couple of interesting things about you.” Dalton’s fleshy lips sneered. “You brought a lot of money on board this ship, eighty pounds, to be precise.”
Ailish sucked in her breath. Eighty pounds! Besides Uncle Peter, this made Paddy Whelan the richest Irishman she’d ever met. If she and her da had that kind of money, they could have gone to Newfoundland and lived like kings, or maybe a king and a princess.
Paddy’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “How do you know that?”
Dalton snorted. “The captain may be the boss above decks, but make no mistake, down below, I run this ship. One of my lads overheard you tell the purser about the cash when you had him lock it in the safe.”
“That money is for my family.” Paddy said defensively. “I sold our land in Ireland and we’re going to make a fresh start in Canada.”
“I’d say that may be tough to do once I show the captain
this…”
As Ailish watched, Dalton held up a copy of the London Illustrated News. The outsize headline read “Fenian Traitors Plan To Wreck Transatlantic Cable!”
“If anything were to happen to the cable now, everyone will know an Irishman’s to blame and this will show them which lying dog it was.” Dalton pointed to the large picture under the headline and Paddy leaned forward to peer at it closely.
“That’s rubbish! I’m not a Fenian!” he protested indignantly. “I was at the meeting, yes, because the Fenians wish a free Ireland and so do I. I went to listen, but when they started talking violence, I wanted no part of it. That picture was taken moments before I left.”
“It looks like proof of a plot to me. If I show Captain Anderson, he’ll throw you in the brig to make sure nothing happens to his precious cable, and then he’ll turn you over to the police when we reach Newfoundland. They’ll lock you up and hire a hangman.” The corners of Dalton’s mouth turned up in a sly smile. “Or we could do a private deal and the captain need never see this.”
“Why, you rotten... You’ll not get that eighty pounds! It’s all the money my family has.” Paddy took a menacing step toward Dalton, who stumbled backward in his haste to avoid the angry sailor.
“Back off, Whelan! I told you, belowdecks I run this ship, and you could end up having a little accident.”
“Don’t threaten me, Dalton. Do what you must. I won’t give you one farthing.” Paddy spun on his heel and stalked away.
Dalton watched him leave before following at a safe distance.
Ailish wasn’t sure what to make of their argument, but did know she now had a chance to follow the low-life thief who had stolen her treasure. She shoved on the crude wooden lid. With a groan of protest, it slid open and she hopped out, pushing it back into place behind her.
Trying not to make any noise on the cold iron floor, she hurried toward the stairs. With a little luck, she could catch up with Dalton and hopefully, he’d lead her to the fabulous horse.
She’d reached the bottom stair when she heard men’s voices coming from above.
Looking around, Ailish frantically tried to find someplace to take cover. Her crate was far across the hold and she’d never have time to crawl back in without the sailors seeing her.
“Over here! Hurry, miss!” The command came to her from behind several large wooden barrels that were stacked beside the stairs.
Surprised, Ailish stopped, unsure she’d heard right.
“Come on!” the voice urged again, this time, with a distinct note of irritation.
Peering into the darkness, she tried to see who’d spoken. Should she trust this unknown rescuer? She had to. There was no time to investigate if whoever owned this mystery voice would be any more dangerous than the men coming. She darted for the barrels and squeezed herself into the small space behind them.
A boy about her age, with curly dark hair and a mischievous look about him, squatted there. Hoping she was doing the right thing, she squished herself beside him.
Together, Ailish and her new ally watched as two gruff looking men climbed down the stairs then strode over to the very crate she’d been hiding in and wrenched the lid off. She gulped.
They lifted out several machine parts then replaced the lid, nailing it shut before leaving.
Ailish couldn’t believe it. If it hadn’t been for this stranger, she would have run right into the sailors on the stairs, or worse, they would have found her cowering in the wooden box.
3
Stowaway!
.-- …. . .-. . -.. .. -.. - …. . -.-. .-. . .-- … .-.. . . .--.
“I owe you my gratitude, sir. They almost had me.” Ailish stood, then eased out from behind the casks and dusted the dirt off her dress. She was in a rather awkward spot. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here …” She couldn’t think of anything to say and decided to turn the tables instead. “But since you were stuck behind the barrels too, perhaps you’d tell me why you had to avoid those men and who you are?”
She waited as the boy finished wiggling free of their mutual hiding place. He was dressed differently from the lads she knew. The sleeves on his shirt were loose-fitting and his pants were tied off above the calf. She was about to comment on his sailor’s garb, when he looked at her and the words dried up.
He had the strangest eyes. They were large and luminous and ocean-green.
“I was hanging about down here, like always, and the vibration in the deck plates told me we were about to have company. I figured from watching you climb out of that crate that you didn’t want anyone to know you were aboard so I thought I’d help a damsel in distress. The name’s David Jones, but you can call me Davy.” In the light from the gas lamps, his strange eyes sparked like lightning bugs. “I work here. I’m a bash boy.”
“A bash boy? What’s that?” Ailish had never heard the term before, but from his accent, she could tell he was from England; maybe it was some peculiar thing known only to the English.
“Hear that?” Davy asked, cocking an ear.
At that moment, Ailish heard a distant clang of a hammer striking metal.
“That’s Charlie.” Davy explained. “He’s a riveter here on the ship and I’m his helper. I hold the hot bolts while Charlie smashes them in. We keep the ship, and all three million of her rivets, from falling apart,” he added proudly.
“Oh, my goodness! That does sound impressive,” she said with genuine respect.
“Who are these ‘Fenians’ Dalton was going on about?”
His question caught her by surprise. She couldn’t ignore it, but gabbing about the Fenians was not something any Irishman did. Ailish tried to explain. “We, that is the Irish, don’t like being ruled by the English. It chafes every Irishman who draws breath. The Fenians are the brave souls who speak out for independence but they’ve been branded traitors for their efforts. They’re hunted, and when caught, the gallows await. We common folk agree with these freedom fighters but because of the severe penalties, the only grumblings you’ll hear are those muttered where the authorities can’t hear. An Irishman’s loyalty to Her Majesty can never waver…” She paused. “At least not within earshot of an Englishman.”
It suddenly struck her that this bash boy was English and perhaps she’d said too much. He could turn her in for speaking such thoughts!
Instead, he nodded sagely. “Being captain of your own ship makes sense to me. I’d sign on too.”
Ailish immediately liked Davy, even though, for some odd reason, she got no feeling about him, whether good or bad. He could be Satan in a pink bonnet for all she could sense.
“So what are you doing on my ship?” Davy asked bluntly.
“Ah, actually, the reason I’m aboard is because…” Ailish groped for some way to explain her presence. “Because I’m visiting my uncle, my favourite uncle,” she amended. “He’s a sailor and well, I guess I wandered off and ended up here. I was afraid I’d get the old dear into trouble for being where I didn’t belong so I hid in the crate...”
It sounded so false she knew from the look on Davy’s face that he hadn’t believed a word. She shrugged helplessly. “Or I could have smuggled myself on board and become trapped in that blasted crate when someone stuck another box on top.”
He winked at her in that same playful way her da did and Ailish had a sudden pang. She said a silent prayer that her father was mending.
“A brave plan – not very well thought out, but a brave plan, nonetheless,” Davy said casually. “So, now you’re here, what do we do with you?”
Ailish’s stomach flipped. Rufus Dalton had said he controlled belowdecks. Maybe this bash boy had saved her because he wanted to be the one to turn her over to Dalton. If Davy worked for that villain, turning in a stowaway would put him in his boss’s good graces for sure. And once she was in his hands, Dalton would arrange one of his “accidents” to silence her about the golden horse.
“Heavens, will you look at the time! I’m late.” Ailish edg
ed the corners of her mouth up in what she hoped was a winning smile. “I guess I’d best be getting off now. Thanks for the warning.” She inched toward the stairs again, wondering how she could get on a boat that would take her back to shore without anyone noticing. Having to leave the treasure behind galled her down to the bone, but the idea of being in Dalton’s clutches was terrifying.
“I’m no friend of Mr. Dalton’s,” Davy said, as though he’d read her mind. “And leaving’s going to be a good trick, my girl, since we’re already many miles at sea.”
Ailish stopped her retreat. “At sea? Impossible. I don’t feel any movement.”
“That’s because you’re aboard the Great Eastern. She’s near seven hundred feet, longer than any wave trough, double-hulled and loaded with airtight compartments. She glides across the seas as effortlessly as an albatross rides the wind.”
Ailish swallowed. “This simply cannot be. I have to get off now!” The panic in her voice was unmistakable.
“You can’t,” Davy assured her. “Captain Anderson isn’t about to stop the cable laying for a lass like you. This is a ship of important ghost messages.”
“What do you mean, ghost messages?”
“Why, the cable, of course! Whispers along the ocean floor for thousands of miles,” he said wistfully. “Amazing. Magic, really. Those gents topside constantly send words made up of dots and dashes called Morse code back and forth, back and forth, to make sure the cable is working. I’m happy my ship is being used and wouldn’t mind if this cable-laying business took a hundred years. I’m enjoying the company.” He blinked as though to clear his mind. “But as for you, miss, you’re going to Heart’s Content with the rest of us.”
Her mouth dropped open. This couldn’t be happening! “Stay aboard all the way to Newfoundland – not a bit o’ me!” She shook her head, still not wanting to believe it. “How will I survive?” she croaked. “I’ve nowhere to sleep, nothing to drink. No food! I’ll starve down here!” She thought of her need to go to the toilet and averted her eyes. “And other things need attending to also...”
Ghost Messages Page 2
