Rebellious Cargo

by Susan Lodge

  “Well, lad, let’s go,” he whispered to his newest recruit.

  White teeth flashed a grin. “Yes, sir.”

  “Captain,” Adam corrected, as he turned to follow Celine’s messenger.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jane ran as if her heels were on fire. Her lungs heaving with exertion was the sole noise against the stillness of the night. Only when she reached the cover of the orange trees part way up the valley, she dared to look back. She breathed a sigh of relief; the house was still in silent darkness, giving no indication that her escape had been discovered. A skittering moon disappeared as she edged farther up the valley side, making it impossible to see what lay ahead of her. Groaning silently as the parched earth cut into her feet, she used her hands to feel a path through the rough scrub. Stumbling for a second time, she let herself lie quietly for a moment to regain her breath. She sank farther down, melding herself to the ground as the sound of horses approached.

  She counted the sound of three, or perhaps four riders heading towards the house she had just run from. They slowed and reigned in their horses ten yards or so to her right.

  A deep voice rang out. “Get back to the coast and keep watch for the frigate. Our guest should have recovered enough for us to put her to work. Let us hope she has been worth the trouble.”

  Two riders continued to the house whilst the others turned to the right.

  Her heart raced. Put her to work? Were these the people she was to be delivered up to; the ones Crosby was waiting for? The English voice had a natural authority to it, almost military. She stumbled on until the undergrowth became impossible to negotiate in the darkness. Finally she lay down, sore and exhausted, and waited for the dawn to light her way.

  ***

  Celine had been awoken abruptly by the sound of horses and a great deal of shouting. She quickly rose and peered down from her vantage point on the hill and saw the house she had been surveying earlier pulsing with life. Two riders had pulled up and there was a heated argument going on outside the front door. She crawled farther out from behind the shrubs, straining to make out the cause of the quarrel. Rising up to her knees, she sensed the presence behind her just a second before a hand closed over her mouth and strong arms lifter her to her feet. Silently her captor propelled her down towards the house.

  The guard deposited Celine in a sparsely furnished room on the ground floor of the house. She sat in the corner as three men stared back at her. Crosby studied her for a moment, and then he recoiled as he caught the expression in Celine’s dark eyes.

  “This isn’t her, this is the servant.”

  Celine continued to glare at him, puzzled by his words.

  Crosby leaned down and shook her. “Where is the Charlesworth woman? I might have known you were behind her escape.”

  Celine kept her expression blank although her mind was racing. They were out looking for Jane – she must have escaped. Despite her terrifying situation, she suppressed a grin of delight and relief. Ha! Jane had outwitted this fool after all. Her thoughts rapidly turned back to her own survival as Crosby’s evil stare pierced into her and she was transported back to the day that she had lost her mother. Was she to die at his hands as well? Not without a fight, she vowed – not this time.

  Suddenly Crosby slapped her across the face and, like the time before, she knew he expected her to cower.

  Well, he is mistaken. I am through with submissive behaviour.

  Celine’s dark eyes glowed with hatred, fuelled by the memory of her mother’s last moments. Her hand found the handle of the weapon secreted in her skirts and she lunged forwards. The blade flashed briefly before it sliced the chaplain’s flesh. Crosby staggered back with a scream his hands flying to the wound on his right side. The guard sprang into action restraining Celine’s arms behind her back as the knife clattered to the floor. Celine stared at her handiwork, watching the blood flow.

  “That was for my mother, Mr. Lucas,” she hissed. But as Crosby staggered back a step, she realised with regret that it was not a mortal wound she had delivered.

  Crosby clutched his side and then stared at his bloodied fingers in shocked fury. He slowly picked the knife up from the floor and turned it towards her. Celine flinched as the cold steel touched her throat.

  “Why do you call me by that name?”

  She silently looked back, mirroring the hatred in his face, until she saw a seed of recognition flicker in his eyes. “You were one of them – you were on the ships.”

  “Yes. I was one of the few you did not destroy.”

  Crosby’s anger turned to contempt. “You were slaves; you did not signify. You were cargo and everyone was paid to treat you as such. As for your mother, I do not remember pieces of merchandise.” He stroked the tip of the knife down her throat and his lips thinned into a chilling smirk. “You should have learned, the punishment for striking your betters is lingering and painful – and final.”

  Celine shut her eyes to blot out his face as the horrible scenes she remembered from the slave ship flooded back. Then a voice from the darkened corner of the room made her eyes fly open. A large figure moved from the shadows into the candlelight.

  She recognised the man who had questioned her on the Serena. “Captain Harrow.” She breathed a sigh of relief and looked around for Captain Marston and Jane. Her relief was short-lived as she listened to his next words.

  “What exactly have you discovered from our visitor, Crosby? Precisely nothing at all, as far as I can see.” Harrow’s voice was far too pleasant, as if he had interrupted a conversation of no particular importance.

  Crosby turned and panic laced his words. “I can make her talk, just give me time. The whore tried to kill me.” His hand went to his wound.

  “So she has.” Harrow turned to frown at Celine. “Rather a poor attempt, my dear,” he chided before casting dangerously bright eyes back towards Crosby. “First you have succeeded in losing the very valuable Mrs. Charlesworth and now you have allowed her companion to infiltrate the house. Your incompetence is unbelievable. So much so that I feel I can no longer use your services.”

  Crosby blanched. “But I can make her talk. Besides, we have an agreement; you promised me a berth out of here if I kept quiet about your accomplice on Marston’s ship. I could have told him and Cookson plenty.”

  Harrow raised his eyebrows. “Exactly. That is why I had to remove you from Valetta in the first instance – and that is why I now have to remove you for good.”

  Celine began to shake uncontrollably as Harrow walked towards Crosby, who had no time to consider his fate as the knife was wrenched from his hand and turned towards him. The preacher’s scream ripped through the room as Harrow plunged the blade into his chest. Crosby dropped like a stone.

  Harrow turned to Celine with a smile. “There, my dear, that’s how it is done properly.”

  Celine stared back at the man whose pleasant expression had not altered. She shuddered with a mixture of relief and revulsion. Thoroughly confused, she tried to find some answers.

  “So you are behind Mrs. Charlesworth’s abduction from the deck of the Serena. But why?

  “Your friend has a skill that could help me discover the whereabouts of a fortune. But it could equally put a noose around my neck. Several nooses around several prominent necks, in fact. Clayfield, it is believed, discovered some vital information which he refused to share before he was killed. I cannot risk Mrs. Charlesworth unravelling her father’s last documents, without both being in my control.”

  He gave an apologetic sigh. “Unfortunately, like Crosby, you are no further use to me. I am afraid you have witnessed too much. I still have to recover Mrs. Charlesworth, and it is obvious you are just as puzzled by her whereabouts as the rest of us. I cannot risk you alerting Cookson or Marston to my double life.” He signalled again to his accomplice and Celine closed her eyes in weary acceptance as she again felt the cold blade at her throat.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Celine opened her eyes.
Harrow was staring at her thoughtfully. She caught her breath as he lifted the blade an inch or so from her neck and tapped it almost playfully against the tip of her nose.

  “You have risked a great deal to track down Mrs. Charlesworth. Your loyalty towards her could be useful to me, if she is equally concerned about your welfare. When we find her – and we will, of course – I might find it easier to persuade her to cooperate with my plans if I have you with me.”

  “Plans?” Celine whispered.

  “No questions, my dear – just celebrate that your life will be spared for a while longer. Even in the unlikely occurrence of Mrs. Charlesworth getting back to Valetta on her own, I will be able to collect her quite easily as she, like Cookson, has no idea of my involvement with her abduction. Once I have her again she will be willing to use her considerable skills without too much effort on my part. I am sure she would not want to watch you die. Women do not like undue violence, in my experience.”

  He turned to his nearest guard. “Stevens! Find Mrs. Charlesworth and make sure no one else is lurking in the undergrowth. And I want the house evacuated – tie up any loose ends and be out of here in the hour.”

  “What about him?” Stevens replied, jerking his head at Crosby’s body.

  “Leave the woman’s knife here. It will look like she murdered him. She has a good enough motive.”

  Celine shuddered as Harrow secured her hands behind her back and tossed her towards Stevens. “Here, have her guarded well. If this one escapes, you will follow in Crosby’s wake.”

  The guard’s eyes flickered with unease. Like the others, he was not dressed as military but they all moved as such. One or two had the trappings of a uniform – possibly deserters, she thought. One thing was clear; Harrow terrified them as much as he did her. As the prod from a musket barrel urged her forward, she prayed that Jane had got safely away.

  ***

  As the first strands of light started to light the sky, Jane discovered she had reached the peak of the hills surrounding the valley. In the distance the sea spread out wide and blue. The sunrise gave her a rough estimation of her directions; she sheltered her eyes with her hand and pondered. She must be on the North Coast, which meant the two islands which lay out in front of her like giant stepping stones were Comino and Gozo.

  She breathed in the morning air already warm and sultry, and felt a rush of intense loneliness and abandonment. She was free at the moment but had no doubt her pursuers were already combing the area for her. She forged through the prickly scrubland to the edge of the cliff wincing at the renewed punishment to her already ravaged feet. The drop to the shore below was sheer and impossible to negotiate, so she edged along the clifftop trying to find a way down. If she could get to the shore, she might find a cave or shelter, or even a boat. Right at this moment the sea seemed a great deal safer than the land. She needed to get to Cookson and find out why she seemed to be the most wanted woman in the world. Whatever document they had for her to examine must surely hold the key, and she was curious to know why she was thought to be the only person who could solve its mystery.

  Her nose wrinkled in disgust. She stank. Her clothes reeked of Ned’s bodily odours and her skin itched. A red rash had appeared across her midriff where she had scratched it during the night and right now all she wanted to do was wash.

  A while later a large boulder blocked her path and, pulling herself up onto its flat surface, she stood and looked down. Her hand clutched the top of her borrowed trousers as they threatened to slip off her hips by the manoeuvre. “Wretched clothes,” she muttered as she tightened the strip of sheeting securing the baggy garment to her waist. The material flapped around each of her legs, billowing occasionally in the breeze like twin flags. The shirt she left flapping loosely over her shoulders, trying to keep the material as far as possible from her skin.

  She felt like diving from her vantage point into the turquoise sea below to cleanse and cool herself – only she could not swim, and would certainly be dashed to her death by the rugged boulders where the surf ebbed and flowed with a ferocious roar. The sun was rapidly warming the air and she needed a hat. In an hour or so the heat would be relentless. Her empty stomach and parched throat added to her discomfort. The rocks bit at her cloth-bound feet at each step as she edged farther around the cliff.

  Damn Adam Marston! Damn Cookson! Damn Addington! Damn them all for delivering her to this island of hell and then abandoning her to a pack of lunatics.

  ***

  Adam turned Crosby’s body over, taking in the stab wounds and the knife close by. He picked it up and wondered if it belonged to Celine. The design on the handle looked like the same design that had been on the pistol he had confiscated from Jane the night she threatened Crosby back on the ship. He was sickened at the thought of either one of them having to murder a man to protect themselves. Surely to God that should have been his job. He tucked the knife into his belt and surveyed the room for clues. And where was Celine? Had she helped Jane escape, or had they both been taken?

  The rest of the house was empty, but the smell of cooking lingered and the range in the kitchen was still warm. Whoever had been in residence had left in a hurry. He had to face the possibility that Jane was still in the hands of the kidnappers. Crosby was dead, but there had been others in the house.

  Jake, his newest recruit, had led him to the place on top of the hill, where Celine had instructed. But there was no sign of her, just the donkey she had used. Had she been foolish enough to attempt a rescue on her own? Was it possible they were both free? Or had she arrived too late and returned to Valetta?

  Wherever they were, he hoped they had found each other. Even if they were captives, together they were stronger, and Jane would not feel like she had been altogether abandoned. Of course, they could both be dead. His insides lurched painfully at the possibility. He rubbed one hand across his face and groaned softly at the prospect of finding more bodies.

  Jake looked at him with wide, concerned eyes. “What now, Captain?”

  Adam studied him. The lad had proved to be useful with his local knowledge and he rather liked him. “If you were escaping from this house, where would you run? Suppose you were being hunted, where would you hide around here?”

  “That’s easy, you would head to the coast; there are many caves. I know them all.” He jutted his chin up in a proud gesture. “I have already checked outside, many people have been visiting this house there are new tracks everywhere.”

  “Well, Jake, let’s get to work and see if we can find the ones made with dainty feet,” Adam replied.

  “Captain, do not worry,” he said scornfully. “We will soon find them. They are just two women, they would not have got far.”

  He frowned at the boy and shook his head. “Believe me, Jake, they were never just two woman; they are the most inventive, intelligent, and capable of females.”

  Jake wrinkled his nose. “They sound like trouble, Captain.”

  “Exactly,” Adam agreed, as he headed for the door.

  ***

  Jane had finally found a path down the cliffside. She had negotiated its steep descent on hands and knees until it had stopped abruptly halfway down at a small shallow cave in the rock face. She groaned in frustration, finding she could no longer go forward, and the steepness of the route that she had descended from made it impossible to return. Even if she could make her way back to the top without falling to her death, she could not risk being found by her pursuers.

  Exhausted and miserable, she sheltered for a while in the small recess, relieved to be out of the searing heat. A small pool of water had gathered in a crevice and she bent her head to drink. It tasted foul, but it was wet and not salty, and she knew it was vital to her survival. She undid a strip of the sheeting from her foot and, burying the usual nausea at the sight of blood, inspected her wounds. Though not deep, a myriad of scratches crisscrossed the skin. Moistening the material in the water she cleaned away some of the blood. Her head suddenly jutted up
wards at the sound of shingle scattering over the cliff directly above her. Someone was following her down the steep path.

  Voices floated down.

  “She’s here. I saw something move.”

  “Probably just goats – but you better check.”

  She recognised one of the guard’s voices from the house and frantically looked around for an escape route. Creeping to the edge of the ledge, she looked down; it was at least a forty foot drop to the next narrow ledge which protruded from the rock face. As the footsteps descended farther, another shower of stones rushed past her shoulder, and in desperation she lowered herself below the ledge until she was hanging from her fingers. She pressed her body into the cliffside and wedged one of her toes into a crack in the rock.

  She didn’t dare to breathe. Her arms ached in agony whilst she balanced her feet on their tiny anchorage. The tip of a boot appeared inches above her head. She pressed farther in to the rock and listened.

  “She was here. I saw her, she came over the ridge. Look, here’s a scrap of her clothes, she must have fallen over the edge, there is nowhere else to go.”

  “But we need the body to prove it. Harrow wanted her back.”

  “There’s no way she could have climbed down, she must have gone straight onto the rocks. Nothing could survive this drop.”