They made it to Brugge at dusk. Edward sent McPhee to see if there was any word left for them from Paris at their usual rendevous spot.
“Nothing yet, Captain,” McPhee said when he returned. “But it hasn’t been that long. They probably haven’t gotten here yet.”
“We’ll anchor here for the night. Perhaps there will be news in the morning.” Edward was starting to lose hope. His stomach was a constant bundle of knots. But he wouldn’t stop searching until he found her.
“Capt’n? We’ll find her,” McPhee said. “You should o’ seen her at Calais like I did. She’s a strong lass. I’m guessing she’ll pull through.”
“Thank you, Thomas. I hope to God you’re right.”
It was the third day. Edward had to find her before the deadline to turn over the jewels. The longer she was missing, the greater the odds he would never see her again. They would be married in just a few days if she hadn’t disappeared. At times Edward felt paralyzed by his own rage. But his only chance of finding her would be keeping a tight grip on his wits.”
Around two in the morning, there was a rap on Edward’s cabin door. “Capt’n, can ye hear me?” It was one of his night watchmen. “Someone’s rowing out to the ship.”
Edward had been resting his head over his arm on his desk. “I’m awake. I’ll be right there.” He rose and pulled on his long black cloak, then went on deck.
A small dinghy headed toward the ship with a lantern hanging on a pole up the middle. Two men in plain dark clothing eventually climbed the ladder to the deck. Edward recognized them from Paris. “Good morning, gentlemen. Come to my cabin.”
The two men followed him inside and Edward pulled out some chairs for them.
“Any news?”
“No sign of her in Paris, Captain, but there is plenty of buzz about the jewels,” the older man, a major, answered. “We tracked down the couturier. A Madame DuBennet, who happens to be the sister of Francois Jonteau.”
“Bloody hell.” Edward’s shoulder was throbbing again.
“She has suspiciously closed up shop and disappeared for the time being. She does in fact cater to the new regime’s higher-ups. It is possible they used Gabrielle Demerre as a pawn to flaunt the jewels in front of certain officials as a statement of power, and now they are using her as a scapegoat. Our take on it is that the couturier was employed by some highly placed official, possibly connected with Bonaparte himself.”
“Do we know who he is?” Edward asked.
The major shook his head. “We suspect that because of the high price of the bounty they set on her at ten thousand francs. Coincidentally, Madame DuBennet’s brother, Francois Jonteau, is officially named the new premier of Les Nouveau Liberterres. Regardless of who is responsible, the bounty is bringing every tracker out of the woodwork. They’re trying to stir up a hornet’s nest, by the sound of things. The real danger is that if Gabrielle Demerre is arrested, she could be convicted as a traitor. If so, she would be executed, leaving the original thieves to go free.” He cleared his throat. “There is one more thing.”
Edward snorted impatiently. “What else?”
“The boarding house where she stayed, on Rue de Vienne. It was burned to the ground in the middle of the night a sennight ago. There was a witness from the tavern across the street. He saw the doorway burning first. He ran to the back door to wake them, but it was also on fire. The house went up in flames like a flash. Obviously arson. Everyone inside, including Madame Marceau, perished.”
Edward pounded his fist on the desk. His body shook with rage. “Those murdering cowards! That is the same way many of our detachments in Paris were destroyed. Was Colonel Withers informed?”
“Yes. He is aware. He is the one who sent us, and wanted to make sure you were apprised. This whole thing, as tragic as it is, may finally lead us to our mole,” the Major said. “All along, we have suspected Le Noveau Liberterres, but we have no evidence. It appears Jonteau is getting a bit overconfident, and hopefully careless. He typically doesn’t like to get his own hands dirty.”
“Let us hope that is the case,” Edward said wearily. “Thank you, gentlemen. Do you need a bunk for the rest of the night?”
“That would be fine, sir, but we could use some food first. We rode straight through. Orders from the Colonel.”
“I’ll take you down to the galley.”
The visitors left at dawn. Edward ordered the crew to pull up anchor to put out to sea again.
It was now four days.
This was his last day before he would need to turn back. It would take three days to reach the Tin Penny with the jewels and he couldn’t risk missing the deadline. But his instincts warned him the kidnappers might not return Alexandra, with such a rich bounty attached to her in France. A miscreant like Pike could just as likely head for France and collect the bounty himself, rather than return Alexandra back to Jonteau, if indeed Jonteau was behind the kidnapping.
He decided to sail back toward Calais. There was one other small port along the way, Sorreau, which was a popular mooring spot for profiteers. He would put in there to see if he could learn anything. Maybe Pike’s ship would show up. Pike was just the sort of rotter Jonteau would hire to do his dirty work.
Chapter 40
By mid-morning the fog was rolling like a thick woolen blanket. They could be forced to lower their sails and drop anchor until it passed if the visibility got much worse.
Edward’s panic was burning in his veins with the threat of a delay. The deadline was tomorrow and he would need to make landfall in England by tonight. What if his judgment was too compromised by his emotions? Had he made the wrong decision to go to sea?
“Captain!” called the watchman from up in the crow’s nest. “Ship off the starboard, sixty degrees!”
Edward peered into his telescope through the gray haze over the water. He knitted his brows. Something was off. “Prepare arms,” he ordered.
The runner chain pulled the cannons into firing position, and the sailors retrieved their guns with the clockwork precision.
By this time, Edward dared not raise his hopes, but he also refused to give up.
He continued observing through his spyglass. The fog lay low, shrouding the ship and water with swirling mist. The water was as calm as glass. Two bare masts of a brigantine emerged into Edward’s scope of vision and his blood froze. The Black Swan glided closer until an apparition of a small ship materialized into full view. His crew was on alert, in silent anticipation of an attack.
“Captain, she looks like the Dottie May, Ole Pike’s brig,” said McPhee. “But she’s not flyin’ a flag.”
“That’s odd,” Edward murmured. He squinted harder into the scope. Through the soupy mist, the phantom ship appeared to be anchored—and deserted. “Do you see any men, Thomas?”
“Captain!” called the man from the crow’s nest. “The ship looks abandoned!”
“Let’s try putting right up beside her, McPhee. The water is calm enough. But keep the guns ready.”
As they drifted next to her broadside, not a single soul could be seen on board. The ship looked like a phantom rising ominously from the swirling mist.
“Keep up your guard. This may be a trap,” Edward warned, securing his own pistol.
Winston and Ian came on deck.
Edward turned to Winston. “I’m going to board the other ship with McPhee. I’d rather you and Ian stay on the Black Swan. If anything happens, you’ll be in command. If you don’t hear from us in twenty minutes, get the ship away. Head for Dover. The crew knows the way.”
“Sure thing, Edward,” Winston said. “But do be careful. I’m not ready to become a sodding pirate yet.” His eyes tightened with admiration and worry.
Edward climbed over onto the creaking deck with McPhee. The sails were down and the ship was deathly quiet. The Dottie May was fairly clean, but not immaculate. The gentle sloshing of waves made a slapping sound on the hull as the ship tugged against her anchor like a wayward ghost tether
ed firmly to the world by the devil’s hand.
Edward and McPhee crept silently around the deck. The heavy fog swirled about, impeding their vision. I’m going below, Thomas. You start with the quarterdeck.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Edward climbed down the steep ladder-like stairs to the first level below. He anticipated a trap. On a ship this size, the galley would be located nearby and possibly a few berths. More sleeping quarters and storage holds would be lower. He pushed open the creaky doors to the berths and saw that the tiny rooms were deserted. Crumpled blankets lay heaped on the bunks and personal belongings lay strewn about, as if the crew was there one moment and then had simply vanished. The galley was also deserted, yet mugs of stale grog and half-eaten meals remained on the table.
Some muffled thumping noises echoed abruptly from a narrow passage toward the stern. Then it was silent again. Edward turned, stepping silently in that direction. A closed door at the end of the corridor barred his way. Standing off to one side, he kicked the door open with the heel of his boot. He squinted to adjust his eyes to the dim light. The room was full of crates, trunks, and barrels. Drawing his pistol, he entered.
Two small portholes allowed narrow shafts of murky light to slice through the darkness, leaving the rest of the room shrouded in shadows. Stepping further inside, he peered around, wondering where the noise had come from.
In one swift motion, the door slammed shut behind him. There was a solid click as the latch was locked.
“Drop yer bloody weapon,” growled a gravelly voice. “And don’t turn around.”
The solid steel of a gun poked between Edward’s shoulder blades. He hesitated.
“Drop it now, or I’ll blow yer bleedin’ brains out like I’ve done with the rest of the crew. One more won’t matter,” the voice snarled.
Edward tossed his pistol on the floor.
“Now take yer dagger out of yer boot—nice and slow.”
Edward reached into his boot and pulled out his dagger.
“Throw it with the pistol, and no fast moves or I’ll shoot. Then git yer hands up in the air,” the voice rasped. Edward reluctantly complied when he felt another poke in his back.
For a moment, the only sound he could hear was his own breathing and the splashing of the seawater on the outside of the hull.
“How’d ya get on deck?”
“My ship is beside yours,” Edward replied.
“How many men on board?”
“Thirty-seven.”
There was a beat of silence. “That’s a lot of men against just one of me.”
“There’s no one else on board?” Edward asked.
“I’ll do the askin’!” the voice growled. Another beat of silence. “Why are you not flyin’ any colors?”
“I fly my own flag.”
“You a pirate?”
“Depends on who you ask,” replied Edward.
“What if I ask Ole Pike? It takes one bloody pirate to know another.” The pistol poked sharper into his back. “No fast moves.” Edward felt one more nudge of the gun. “So if yere a pirate, give me one good reason not ta shoot ye.”
“I can give you money.”
“How do I know a blackguard like yereself can be trusted, and won’t trick me?”
Something in the back of Edward’s mind clicked. A conversation echoed from his past when he was a lad slashing swords with a fiery little pirate with violet-blue eyes. Edward’s jaw twitched. His lungs constricted and a lump grew in his throat. He opened his mouth to talk but no words sounded.
The gun was jabbed into his back again. “Speak up, mate! Has the puss got yer tongue?”
The impatient tapping of her toe drummed on the floor and thought he would weep.
Clearing his throat, he swallowed. “Because,” he finally answered in a strangled voice, “…because this blackguard is nothing without his blue-eyed brat, for whom he has been frantically searching. He intends to marry her as soon as he gets her back.” A tear trickled down his cheek. “Are you going to shoot me, brat? Because if you are, I’ll never be able to give you my ring, my name, or to tell you how desperately I love you.”
Edward held his breath. He was standing in a dark room with the gun to his back. A seed of doubt took root in his mind. Perhaps he wanted it to be her so much that he was imagining her right now. It was a gamble, a huge gamble. He could be wrong.
“…A ring?” a girlish voice asked, no longer disguised.
A stab of joy pierced his soul. He blew out a huge breath of relief. “Now there’s a question a true pirate would ask—or a woman.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “Uhhh, perhaps you could put the gun down?”
The gun nudged him again in the back. “What bloody ring?”
“If you would just put the gun down, I’ll show it to you, love.”
“Show it to me first.”
He pulled the ring out of his pocket and held it out to his side.
It was quickly snatched from his hand.
A moment later he heard a gasp.
He turned around slowly. Standing in front of him, in a shaft of light from the porthole, a fierce and beautiful ragamuffin still aimed a pistol straight at him. His heart twisted and then froze. “Alexandra, uh, please set down the gun.”
“Why ever would you marry a girl you despise?” She raised the pistol a notch higher. “How do I know you’re not trying to trick me? Perhaps you’ve changed your mind, now that I could be...damaged goods. Especially since you’ve hated me your entire life.”
Edward’s heart wrenched at the despair and doubts in her voice.
She held the gun steady. “Word has is there is a sizeable bounty out for me for being a spy. You could buy yourself another ship for the rich prize France is offering simply to turn me over to them.”
An even worse thought occurred to him. Icy chills flooded his veins. “Alexandra, are you having second thoughts about me?” His voice trembled. “Are you pushing me away? If you are, and don’t want to marry me, just go ahead and shoot me now. I’d be dead anyhow if it weren’t for you. I’d rather have died back on the battlefield than to live now without you at my side.”
His eyes pierced into hers. “So here’s your chance to be rid of me, darling, if that’s what you want. Just put me out of my misery, because I’ve been through a living hell without you these last few days, searching for you, going out of my bloody mind with worry. We’re out here in the open sea, and no one would even arrest you. You could tell my crew it was self defense, that you didn’t know it was me. But do not ever doubt that I love you with all my being. I need you, Alexandra. I need you to be my wife.”
Still unmoved, she stared coldly at him, not lowering the gun.
His gaze locked with hers. Her eyes were hard and guarded. Her flared nostrils were the only indication that she was not as unemotional as she seemed. This was the final reckoning between them, where they both had to face the real issue that could destroy them.
Edward took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Alexandra, the day of the carriage accident, my mother must have known how very much I would need you someday…when she insisted you be rescued you first, before her. She gave her life for us both, my love. She must have known I could not go on living without you.” He took a step toward her, a step closer to the gun. “So if you don’t want me, just pull the trigger, darling. Pull it now and be rid of me.”
Alexandra’s eyes widened and a strange haunted expression crossed her face. For a moment she seemed unable to move, as if she were reliving the tragedy on that rainy day, watching the carriage teeter and slide off the cliff with the duchess still inside. “They couldn’t get her out!” she shrieked. “I should have stayed in and helped her, but she ordered me to get out first.” Her hoarse voice was drowning in twelve years of sorrow. “And then…and then. It was too late.” She dropped the gun and crumbled to the floor in a heap of sobs. “I loved her too, you know! I loved her too!” she cried out in agony. Her dirty hands covered her face.
In an instant, Edward was kneeling on the floor beside her, scooping her into his arms. His heart wrenched at the anguish she had been carrying around all these years. He was filled with self-loathing for the way he had always blamed her.
He closed his eyes, still trying to believe he had found her again, astonished that she could actually love him so much to risk so much after the horrid way he had treated her. He kissed wet tears off her cheeks and wiped away his own streaming tears.
“I am so sorry darling. I’m a miserable wretch. It will take a lifetime for me to make it up to you; please give me the chance.”
In the darkness, he took the large ring out of her hand and slid it onto her finger. “I wanted you to wear it as soon as I found you,” he murmured.
With a sniffle and then a purely feminine squeal of delight, she lifted her hand up to the shaft of light. The brilliant stone sparkled in contrast to the dreary room. “Edward, it’s—magnificent!”
“Magnificent—like your eyes, my love.”
In the next instant, he was almost toppled over backwards as she flung herself onto him, wrapping her arms around him. Recovering his balance, he molded her body against his and kissed her soundly for his own reassurance.
Then a pounding on the door boomed behind them.
“Captain, are you in there?” It was McPhee’s voice.
The door crashed open with a loud slam as the latch was broken through.
“Edward is that you?” Winston called, barging in with more of the crew. He squinted through the dimly lit room and saw two people heaped on the floor, tangled in each other’s arms. He cocked his pistol.
“You don’t have to shoot, Winston,” Edward called out. “I’ve already died and gone to heaven.” Standing, he pulled Alexandra up next to him. “It’s Alexandra. She’s safe.”
The men looked at Alexandra in amazement.
“Well, Edward. You had me going for a moment,” Winston said and chuckled. “I thought you both were men.” He coughed. “She might be safe, but heaven help the rest of their crew.”
McPhee added, “Aye, Captain, we found them all bound and gagged down in the hold!”
Leigh Sparrow Page 22
