Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution

by Adair, Suzanne

  A trip fore rewarded her with the sight of a sloop's white sails not five miles ahead. Mathias rose from where he'd crouched beside a coil of rope. "David must have won at cards."

  "Good morning to you, too." She hugged him, her body meeting his with a smooth and humid fit.

  The proximity of a sailor in rigging nearby restrained their kiss to a peck, but Mathias slid his arm about her waist and whispered against her neck, "I believe my sickness is cured."

  "Without a drop of brandy. Amazing." They chuckled.

  Scuffing his boots, Arriaga joined them, spyglass in hand. He smelled of port and cheroots and looked as though he'd had no more than three hours sleep. No telling how much money he'd lost to David. Sophie gestured toward the sloop. "The Annabelle?"

  "Too soon to tell, senhora."

  "How soon will we overtake her?"

  A brief lift of his shoulders communicated ambiguity. "She can sail closer to the wind, but the captain might find himself in the Bahamas before he outran us. If a passenger paid him to reach a destination such as Havana quickly, he would maintain his course and not sail to windward."

  Arriaga had the field figured out. Le Comte André Dusseau, seeing his sloop being overtaken, might assume them pirates. "Has she any guns, capitão?"

  "A small swivel gun." A voracious smile enveloped his face. "The outcome of the day also depends on the strategy of that frigate, now but six miles behind us. Paolo on the main mast identified her colors as Continental. She has thirty-eight guns and is in pursuit of us." His smile grew knife-sharp. "And there is the ship-of-the-line a few miles behind the frigate."

  "Gods," Mathias muttered.

  Arriaga gauged their reactions. "Shall we wager the warship is the Zealot, and she set sail with those two British officers aboard? Ah, I am certain we shall know soon, for she, like the sloop, is running as quickly as possible."

  He circled them once, evaluating. "Such an interesting voyage. Here we are chasing a fishing sloop. We are, in turn, being chased by both a Continental frigate and a warship.

  "Senhora, your brother Daniel — if Daniel is his name, if he is your brother — plays one and thirty as if he were born to gambling. You, senhor, are an Indian, and I wager you are also an artisan. Your French uncle — if he is your uncle — has ties all the way back to Montcalm. And you, senhora —" Arriaga appraised her from head to toe, intrigued, his dark eyes alert. "You speak with the authority and confidence of one who has operated a business."

  She met his stare, uncomfortable as it made her, and the captain sniffed. "I do not expect you to explain yourselves. However, you may consider giving me your true names. No doubt you have noticed the change in the seas today." He gestured eastward. "And observe the sky."

  Mares' tails of cirrus streamed from the haze in the east, heralds reaching westward. Puzzled, Sophie looked at Arriaga. "I'm not a sailor. What does all that mean?"

  "It means, senhora, that you had best pray for the wind to continue from the east, for if it shifts about to the northeast, by tonight, the captain of each ship will have far more to concern him than pursuit." He pivoted and strode astern.

  ***

  While adjusting to the roll of a larger swell, Sophie balanced the tray between her hip and one hand and reached for the door handle just as Mathias opened the cabin door from within. Blotting his face with a towel, he stepped aside to let her in, then shut the door. The stool squawked when he pulled it out. "Ah, food. My salvation." After tossing the towel on his hammock, he reached for the tray. "Have you eaten?"

  "Yes. Go ahead. It's all for you."

  She sat on the floor, and neither spoke while she cleaned her teeth and he gobbled breakfast. He gestured with a chunk of bread. "You've been aft to look for the other two ships?"

  "Yes. I can see the frigate and her colors clearly."

  He swallowed the bread. "What business can a Continental frigate have with us?" Naked of moccasins, he wiggled his toes.

  "I've been thinking about that. Suppose MacVie managed to inform rebel leaders that their emerald couriers were being menaced by redcoats and Loyalists, in addition to El Serpiente."

  Mathias grunted agreement. "So the Continentals were positioned to lend support to the rebel mission after it headed to Havana. We're a threat, and the frigate's captain means to intercept us."

  "Yes. I hope the sloop doesn't fire upon us. The frigate captain would receive the wrong impression."

  The blacksmith swigged wine and pointed to the flask. "Excellent. I see how Arriaga stays in business. And what of the ship-of-the-line?"

  "Spotting her requires a spyglass. Were you too ill yesterday morning to spot that anchored warship?"

  "I saw her. Is the same ship following us?"

  "She appears to be the same one, yes, the Zealot."

  "With Hunt and his hellhound aboard." Mathias crammed more bread in his mouth and swallowed.

  "I thought he'd give us up."

  "Come now. Did you really think so?"

  They studied each other. She remembered David's words to her about Edward, more than a week before: ...he's in love with you, Sophie...He may be a mediocre soldier, but he possesses great tenacity and determination... With a shiver, she also recalled Fairfax's words: ...he's so obsessed that he could chase you across three hundred miles...

  If three hundred miles on land were nothing to Edward Hunt, the ocean wouldn't stop him, either. She licked her lips, salty with sea spray. "I hoped he'd give us up. But I suppose not, with an alliance between Continentals and Spaniards at stake."

  "And the woman he loves, too."

  "I don't love him. Surely he must realize that."

  "He wants you."

  "You've wanted me for eighteen years, but did you follow me like a dog all that time? That sort of obsession is unnatural."

  "Different men, different courtship styles."

  "Courtship? Is that what you call our relationship all these years? Had we not been thrown together in this adventure, I'd have gone to my grave without an inkling of your affections."

  He scowled. "Not so. I'd have said something —"

  "When?"

  "Why do women always want to know when?"

  She stared at him, dismayed. "After everything that's happened between us for a week and a half, you're still afraid Major Hunt's going to purchase my affections, aren't you?"

  "The thought does cross my mind, yes."

  "You concluded that since he's chasing me, I must be destined to break your heart again? I don't believe it. I've drawn close to you, and you're so accustomed to orbiting me from afar that you're spoiling for a quarrel to save face. That's how it works for you, isn't it? That's unnatural, too."

  His expression as mobile as marble, he corked the wine flask and set the tray down. "Pardon me. My sickness might be returning." Looking not the slightest bit seasick, he yanked on his moccasins and stood.

  She pressed her lips together, her heart climbing into her throat and hurting. "And that's your answer. You don't talk about it. You just walk away." He yanked open the door. She rose and found her balance. "With such a strategy, how did you ever manage to negotiate anything for the Creek?"

  The slamming door made her wince and brought tears to her eyes that she dashed away. Edward was in her face. Mathias was out at arms' length. Damned if she understood men. She straightened and squared her shoulders. Who needed any of it?

  ***

  With a freshening east wind and the skies lowering through morning, José extinguished the galley fire and served a cold midday meal. Up on deck, Sophie and her companions watched Fate gather momentum: sloop, brig, frigate, and warship converging. Meanwhile, Mathias moved in and curtailed Sophie's conversation with Arriaga about Mediterranean cultures when he overheard the captain say, "In ancient Crete, women did not cover their bosoms. It is the truth." So much for playing aloof. Arriaga's attentions to her made Mathias nervous.

  Mid-afternoon, with the sloop identified at last as the Annabelle and less than a
mile ahead of the Gloria Maria, the frigate and ship-of-the-line closed on the brig running parallel to each other. The wind stiffened, thrust waves up near the deck. Sophie seized the railing, swept wind-whipped hair from her mouth, and tugged on Jacques's elbow. "Why don't those two fire on each other?"

  The Frenchman studied the ships in pursuit. "The frigate is outgunned. Only under desperate circumstances will she attack a ship-of-the-line. In a fleet battle, by formality, the warship may not attack the frigate unless provoked. But we know how often ship captains follow the rules."

  "And this isn't a fleet battle." David threw a look astern.

  Arriaga returned forward from conversing with his signaler and said to David, "The Annabelle will not acknowledge us."

  "Close the distance."

  "Senhor Hazelton, I remind you of her gun."

  "You know the range of that gun. You can get closer."

  "Will your competitor acknowledge you even then? For all I know, the two of you hate each other enough to fight a duel."

  Sophie watched David and the captain trade glares. "Very well. He isn't my competitor. My sister and I suspect two men aboard the Annabelle of complicity in our father's murder."

  "Ah." Arriaga's shoulders relaxed. "Finally I have a truth here. And your real names?"

  "I'm David St. James. My sister, Sophie. Mathias Hale and his uncle, Jacques le Coeuvre."

  "Let us have more of the truth now, senhor." His gaze scoured the four of them. "Are any of you spies?"

  "With God as my witness, capitão, no, and we want no part of this war. Misunderstandings have caught us in the middle. You can get more speed from this brig, can you not?"

  The captain gave him an unpleasant smile. "Of course. It is all I can do to hold her back in a beam wind. And I will hear more of your truth after we have shaken loose those two behind us." He strode aft, his commands in crisp Portuguese.

  Sailors climbed footropes under the yard and bowsprit. Rather than cringe at the sight of maritime acrobatics and wonder how men could hang on in such a wind, Sophie looked astern. The sails of the frigate and warship seemed to fill the sky.

  Jacques cocked an eyebrow. "The capitão is a slick one."

  A grudging smile jerked David's lips. "He kept us from getting closer until I told him the truth."

  Jacques patted his shoulder. "Perhaps it was time you met someone who is immune to the stories you spin."

  The Gloria Maria leaped forward, and David grabbed the railing. "Look lively, Dusseau! Here we come!"

  Sophie started. "Say, what's that flash of light?"

  The "boom" from the Annabelle's gun reached their ears in the next second, and a ball plumed the water a thousand feet ahead of the Gloria Maria. "Bloody hell! She fired on us!"

  Portuguese consternation erupted all over the ship. A gust from the northeast whistled around canvas and lines, and a maintopman jabbered about the frigate and the weather. At another explosion, fainter, from astern, Mathias peered over the port railing. "The frigate just fired upon us!"

  "Warning us off." Jacques's expression darkened. "And the ship-of-the-line?"

  "Still not engaging the frigate, Uncle."

  "She will bide her time and scoop up the scraps of battle. We will be the scraps if this continues."

  In response to additional commands from Arriaga, sailors redirected sails and rigging, and the Gloria Maria seemed to take a deep breath before settling back to her previous speed. Nevertheless, the Annabelle fired another ball at the brig, and the frigate responded with additional shots. Arriaga barked out more commands and jogged forward. "Senhor, accept my apologies, but we will not rendezvous with the Annabelle. For the safety of all aboard, we are clearing the field —"

  Dire exclamations broke from the maintopman, and Arriaga strode to port for a look northeast. In the next second, the wind veered, and with a groan of timber, the Gloria Maria heaved to starboard. Yards, spars, gaffs, and rigging swung wide, sailors aloft howled and cursed while clinging on for dear life, and the fore topgallant blew out in a bang. Everyone standing forward, including Arriaga, tumbled to the deck, and unsecured equipment rebounded amidships.

  Arriaga scrambled up and bellowed a new set of commands, echoed aft by Tomás. More hands clawed their way aloft on shrouds and ratlines to stow the thrashing sail.

  David, crouching, gaped northeast. "Look at that!"

  A black shelf of cloud had belched from the haze and was trundling southwest. Sophie, assisted to her knees by Mathias, squinted into a wind that tried to pummel them flat. Jacques propped his elbow and jerked his head toward the approaching squall. "All ships are too close to the coast of East Florida. We cannot lie to and ride it out. We will wreck on the reefs."

  Scudding ahead of the squall appeared to be Arriaga's strategy. Moments later, the forestaysail set, the foretopsail set and reefed, and all other sails furled, the brig braced herself in the angry sea. Wood groaned and rigging strained as the two sails filled with the approaching tempest, and the ship steadied in her new bearing.

  Wind slapped a wave across the deck. Sophie shielded her face and clung to the railing. "What happened to the Annabelle?"

  "Over here!" Mathias called from the starboard bow. "Her sails blown out by that first big gust."

  Sophie, Jacques, and David joined him at the leeward railing. A scant thousand feet away, the Annabelle's crew worked on their sails. The Gloria Maria slipped past, stabilized by foresails and expert hands on the tiller. Three miles northeast, the squall bore down on the frigate and warship, all hands aboard both ships still lowering and furling sails. Sophie shook her head. "The squall will be upon the Annabelle in minutes."

  A dark-haired young man, likely André Dusseau, appeared on deck to offer what aid he could to the captain and crew of the sloop. An elderly man climbed up after him, the third member of Hernandez's trio. A band of rain passed between the two ships as he turned around, preventing their getting a clear look at him, but Sophie blinked and gasped, her soul brushed by phantasm.

  Beside her, Mathias stiffened. "Am I seeing things?"

  "Mon dieu, not unless I am, too."

  "I know what I think I saw." Sprayed by rain, David rubbed his eyes and gaped, trying to penetrate the rain.

  Wind deposited globs of seaweed tangled with small fish on deck, and tepid rain tasting of seawater soaked the passengers. They gripped the railing. Rain curtained off the Annabelle, but not before they spotted the sloop once more, her sails dropped and furled, her mainsail at last set.

  Tomás stumped forward drenched, his Spanish sounding soaked. "¡Abajo! ¡Abajo!" He motioned them below. Passengers washed overboard were bad for business.

  Just before Sophie headed down the companionway, she spied the squall swallowing the frigate and warship. Tomás shoved the hatch closed behind her and her party. Slammed from one side to the other in the belly of the storm-tossed brig, the four of them traded stunned glances in the gloom of a dingy lantern and gathering night. Bitterness and apprehension carved through David's expression. "God damn it all to hell."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  IN THE ADJOINING cabin, where they'd stored their gear at the beginning of the night, a small object bounced on the floor and progressed to smaller and smaller bounces until it, along with other loose objects, clattered to the wall on the port side. When the Gloria Maria rolled back the other way, the loose objects in the cabin mirrored the motion. The pattern repeated so many times that Sophie lost track of how long it had gone on.

  She imagined powder, balls, and splintered arrows smeared on the floor with the contents of the chamber pot, a sort of storm stew. Amazing that she could hear anything from the other cabin for the shriek of the wind. She and her companions hugged the floor to avoid being flung into each other. They'd puked several times, except Mathias, who must have purged the instinct from his system the previous day. No one spoke.

  Through the wind's howl, she heard another band of rain lash the hull. Yanked about like a splinter being
pried from Poseidon's thumb, the fragile wood-and-canvas Gloria Maria reared up and slammed down what felt like fifty-mile-high mountains of ocean, jarring Sophie until her jaw ached.

  Right after the lantern had extinguished, plunging them into night spiked with pink and blue lightning, they'd heard a mast crack, loud as cannon shot, followed by the collapse and wreckage of rigging and spars on the deck. Sophie imagined Arriaga and his crew swept overboard then and the brig — her rudder lost, her two foresails blown out — batted along by the storm like a ball of yarn in a kitten's paws.

  Entrenched in seasickness, nothing left in her stomach to vomit after half a night, she no longer cared what became of them. Let the Gloria Maria impale herself upon the reefs of East Florida and plunge them to the bottom of the Atlantic.

  The ordeal felt worse for her, having glimpsed a specter who looked hauntingly like her father stranded aboard the Annabelle, moments away from being pounded by the black squall. Logic told her it couldn't have been Will. She'd seen his burned corpse. But her eyes had contested logic — not only her eyes, but also those of her companions. Perhaps they'd each been granted the illusion in denial of death and destruction.

  For the odds were against the sloop picking up enough forward speed to stay ahead of the squall. Considering the thrashing the Gloria Maria endured, surely the Annabelle had foundered hours before, along with all aboard her and two-thirds of the rebels' bribe to Don Alejandro. Likely none of them would ever see the two men who'd partnered with Hernandez again.

  On they rose and plunged through the tropical storm, neither capsizing nor running aground, until at length the rain and wind abated from the port quarter and astern. Jacques groaned in the darkness. "It feels as though the wind has shifted."

  Mathias squeezed Sophie's hand gently before speaking. "Yes, it seems to be coming from starboard now, but no comfort in that. We're still being walloped in these waves."