Love's Rescue (Keys Of Promise Book 1) (Historical Romance)

by Christine Johnson

  “Charles Benjamin.”

  That news put an abrupt halt to Rourke’s evening plans. Elizabeth’s father would never let him in the house with a case pending.

  8

  I do hope you will heed my advice,” Aunt Virginia said as she heaped scrambled eggs and cured ham on her plate at breakfast.

  Elizabeth pondered how one woman could eat so much. Even after a week ashore, Aunt still claimed the need to recover her strength. They were the only ones at the dining table. Father had gone to court early, and Charlie still hadn’t poked his head out of his room.

  “Are you listening?” Aunt said sharply.

  “Of course.” Elizabeth selected the smallest piece of ham and one spoonful of eggs. “You want me to heed your advice.”

  “Just so. You must take charge of the servants.” Aunt grabbed two of the piping hot rolls that Cook sweetened with coconut milk and sugar cane syrup. “We can begin after breakfast with a review of the day’s duties.”

  “Yes, Aunt.” In the days that had passed since her aunt’s last scolding, Elizabeth hadn’t devised a way to deal with her dictates without injuring someone’s pride. She certainly did not want to whip Anabelle or even rap her on the knuckles, but she could think of no alternative that would both satisfy her aunt and keep peace in the household. If not Anabelle, who else could she punish? Cook had been there too long. Florie was too young. Nathan? The big groom could bear physical punishment, but she feared touching their only male servant with Father gone from the house every day.

  “I have waited patiently for six days,” Aunt said between mouthfuls, “but you have done nothing to take control. You spend all your time flitting about town on this errand and that with nothing to show for it.”

  Elizabeth could not admit she kept watch for the Windsprite. Yet as of yesterday noon, the sloop had not arrived. The remainder of her days had been occupied with a review of “social betterment,” as Aunt put it. Proper tea service, embroidery, and even piano lessons were again attempted, despite the utter lack of aptitude Elizabeth had already displayed in Charleston. By the time she had murdered three jigs and a sonata, even Aunt Virginia admitted defeat.

  “Put the music away,” she had advised, holding a handkerchief to her forehead, “before I perish of a headache and the neighbors pray to go deaf.”

  Elizabeth wished Aunt had never made Nathan roll the piano into the parlor. After yesterday’s torture, she hoped her aunt would ask him to take it back to Charlie’s room, the former music room, but she’d descended the stairs this morning to find it still in place.

  “Are you listening, Elizabeth?” Aunt pulled her out of her thoughts. “You must tell Florie to polish the silver.”

  “But she just did it on Monday.”

  “That makes no matter. The silver must be polished and the furniture oiled.” Aunt’s cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled.

  Elizabeth groaned. Only one thing gave her aunt this much delight—matchmaking.

  Aunt leaned as far forward as her girth would admit. “We are to have a distinguished guest for supper.” She let that tantalizing morsel hang.

  Rourke’s name rose to Elizabeth’s tongue, but she had the wisdom to keep it there. “We are in mourning. Wouldn’t a supper guest be unwise?”

  “Nonsense.” Aunt settled back and lifted her teacup. “In such a provincial backwater, the rules might be eased, particularly when the caller is connected to the family.”

  “The family? There is no one else in Key West related to us. Has Uncle Jonathan journeyed here?”

  “Of course not. I meant that he is connected in a broad sense.” Aunt glanced around the room. “In addition to the silver, have Florie wash the crystal. I will accompany Cook to market. There will be no repeat of last week’s debacle.”

  Elizabeth slowly breathed out. Aunt Virginia never left the house. Her departure would bring unexpected freedom. For perhaps an hour, she could do as she wished in her own home. The thought made her giddy.

  Aunt leaned close again. “Are you not curious who our guest might be?”

  “The judge, I suppose, or one of Father’s attorney friends. You did say he is of some importance.”

  “Yes, he is important.” Aunt sat back with a smug smile. “Enough so that your brother has promised to join us.”

  “He has?” The first tingle of nerves hit Elizabeth’s stomach, and the ham no longer appealed. She pushed away the plate.

  “Even your brother recognizes the significance of this visitor,” Aunt said.

  “Is it a doctor? Is it someone who can help Charlie?”

  “A physician?” Aunt scoffed. “This guest is not coming for your brother’s benefit, my dear, he is here for you.”

  Elizabeth’s last hope vanished.

  With a satisfied nod, Aunt declared, “Mr. Finch will join us.”

  The attorney that Rourke had hired to serve as his proctor was taking too long to finish the deposition. The man was thorough, but by the time he finished, the opportunity to call on Elizabeth would be lost. Charles Benjamin would not stay away from home all day when court wasn’t in session. Since Benjamin’s office was open for business this morning, Rourke figured he had until noon. Time was slipping away.

  Rourke eyed the late morning sun through the grimy window of the cramped office. William Winston, Esq., did business in a tiny room on Duval Street so full of books and papers and dust Rourke could barely turn around.

  Winston’s chair creaked when he leaned back and rubbed his forehead. “I’ve had enough experience with these cases to get a feel for how Judge Marvin will rule.” He patted his stained serge waistcoat until he came up with a pince-nez. He placed it on his nose and pointed to something on the complaint that Captain Cross had filed. “This statement worries me. The master seems to be saying that you knew the pilot and had some prior agreement with him.”

  “I told you already that I know Mr. Poppinclerk. What master in Key West doesn’t? The man parades himself about town in that gig of his, yet he couldn’t navigate a pond.”

  Winston shook his head. “You can’t say that. It’s defamation. State only the facts.”

  “That is a fact.”

  “Perhaps I wasn’t clear. Stick to what happened. Did you know he was piloting the, uh”—he checked his notes—“Victory?”

  Rourke frowned. The man couldn’t even remember the wreck’s name? Maybe he should have waited until one of the top attorneys could see him. “Of course I didn’t know Mr. Poppinclerk was the pilot. The first time I saw him was when he came across in the ship’s boat. Captain Cross knows all this. He was there.”

  “That is not what he stated in his deposition.” Winston set down the pince-nez and reached for his pipe.

  “I don’t care what Captain Cross said. I’m telling you the truth. You make it sound like Cross is saying I conspired with Poppinclerk to run the ship onto the reef.”

  “That’s one way to read it.” Winston slowly removed a pinch of tobacco from his tobacco jar and deposited it in the bowl of the pipe. Only after tamping it down did he continue. “It’s our job to ensure your deposition makes it clear that you did not confer with the pilot prior to his taking on the Victory.”

  “How could I? We were on different ships.”

  Winston grunted. “You already said you know each other. Cross would say you met beforehand and agreed to wreck the next ship he piloted.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I haven’t talked to Mr. Poppinclerk in a month. I’ve been at sea.”

  “Hmm.” Winston peered at his notes. “Apparently the pilot boarded the ship at Fort Dallas, where the Victory took on supplies. Did you see Mr. Poppinclerk there?”

  “No, I’ve never been to Fort Dallas.” The tiny port on the mainland was a mosquito-infested swamp from what Rourke had heard. “No reason to.”

  “You could have met before Mr. Poppinclerk arrived at Fort Dallas.”

  “I already told you I haven’t spoken to him in a month.” Rourke fidgeted in
the chair, unaccustomed to sitting such a length of time and anxious to get this done. “When did he go there?”

  Winston examined the complaint again. “It doesn’t say.”

  “Then all we need to find out is if he left Key West while I was at sea. That would put an end to this talk of conspiracy over grounding the Victory. If Mr. Poppinclerk sailed that ship onto the reef, he did so on his own.”

  Winston drew his bushy brows together. “Do you have reason to believe Mr. Poppinclerk deliberately grounded the ship?”

  Rourke would not leap that far. “If he wasn’t generally known as a poor navigator and if not for the storm, I might have thought that. But no, I don’t have any proof of wrongdoing.”

  “Hmm, then we’ll keep a wide berth on that one. One more question. Had you ever seen Mr. Buetsch before arriving at the wrecked ship?”

  “No. Never. Does this have to do with the brooch he said he lost? I never saw it. When he made the claim, I let him search my ship. Nothing was found. Mr. Wright’s deputies didn’t find anything in my belongings either.”

  “Good.” Winston puffed on his pipe, wrapping the office in a mellow scent. He might not spend money on his attire, but he didn’t scrimp on tobacco.

  “From Havana?” Rourke asked, pointing to the tobacco jar.

  “As a matter of fact, this is Carolina tobacco. I’m hoping the bales you brought in are similar quality.” He set down the pipe. “They’ll fetch a good price. That’s probably why Cross is contesting your agreement. He doesn’t want to lose his share.”

  “Maybe.” But Rourke had a bad feeling about this. “He chose Charles Benjamin for his proctor rather than Mallory.” They both knew that Stephen Mallory, son of the lady who ran the boardinghouse, had greater prestige thanks to his family’s long-standing presence in Key West and his political connections.

  Winston nodded. “Keeping it in the family, I understand. The Victory is owned by the late Mrs. Benjamin’s brother.”

  Now Rourke knew the source of his foreboding. Benjamin always fought hard in court, but he would never give up when it involved family.

  Winston looked him in the eye. “If this goes the way I think and a charge of collusion is leveled, you will need witnesses to corroborate your testimony. Choose the most respected men on your vessel—preferably United States citizens—and ensure they stay in town.”

  Rourke’s mouth felt coated in sawdust. His mate was a Bahamian free black. The boatswain was a reformed drunkard. None of his men had the clout to counter the testimonies of Poppinclerk and the Victory’s officers. If Winston was right, Rourke stood to lose his wrecking license.

  As soon as Aunt Virginia left for the market with Cook, Elizabeth settled on the shaded front veranda with a book of sonnets. The meeting with the staff had been painful, and she longed to escape to the far shore of the island where no one would tell her what to do. Since going anywhere unescorted was out of the question and Anabelle was busy oiling the furniture, Shakespeare would have to do. Yet she could not bring herself to read. Instead she leaned back on the rocker and closed her eyes with a deep sigh.

  “Aunt Virginia isn’t always right.”

  Charlie’s voice startled her from near slumber. She looked around until she spotted his wheeled chair in the open parlor window. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  His lips curved into a wry grin. “I heard your entire display of tyranny. Nathan couldn’t very well push me back to my room when Aunt V demanded all the servants line up in the dining room.”

  “Oh, that.” She sank a bit, embarrassed by the stern words she’d delivered.

  He motioned to his wheelchair. “No matter how much I improve my strength, I can’t move this chair by myself.”

  “I’m sorry.” Elizabeth hopped up to assist. She should have considered his limitations, but she’d been consumed by her own troubles. In four years, nothing had changed. She needed to apologize. The words rose to her lips but would not come out.

  “How would you know?” Charlie said. “Most people never see one of these contraptions, but it does serve its purpose.” He pulled open the lower shutters, effectively turning the window into a door. “I believe I’d like a little fresh air.”

  She stepped into the parlor and grasped the handle she’d seen Nathan use the first day. “Do I just push?”

  “Slowly. I don’t want to go headfirst down the steps.”

  She was surprised by his attempt at humor. During the meals he had attended, he had spoken only to Father and Aunt Virginia. Each snub had decimated her resolve. Yet today he had initiated the conversation. This was her opportunity to set things right between them.

  The chair was heavy. She struggled to push it over the threshold between the parlor and veranda. With extra effort, she maneuvered it near her rocking chair. “Is this all right or would you rather I wheel you elsewhere?”

  “I would rather go to the harbor, board a ship, and sail the high seas.”

  Each word hit with the force of an ax splintering wood. It was her fault that he could do none of those things. He hadn’t been able to play with other boys or go anywhere outside this house. Though she’d felt trapped here, he truly was.

  “Charlie, I’m so—so—” She couldn’t finish.

  “Stop trying to be like her.”

  Elizabeth didn’t have the courage to ask who he meant. Aunt Virginia or Mother? Both were true. “A lady must live up to certain expectations.”

  “That sounds like Aunt V. Why do you listen to her? You know things are different in Key West.”

  “You don’t understand. Now that Mother is gone, I must take charge of the household.”

  He snorted derisively. “Who asked you to?”

  Father’s assertion that he and Charlie were doing well popped into her mind, but she could not believe she had overstepped her bounds. “A home needs a woman’s influence.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Aunt V again.”

  “Perhaps she is right about this. Don’t you miss having Mother around?”

  His expression hardened. “You aren’t Mother.”

  “I realize that, but I want to become like her.”

  “Then stop listening to Aunt V.”

  Elizabeth knew he was right. Aunt was nothing like Mother. One carried her authority with grace, the other wielded a sharp tongue and the threat of punishment. But it was difficult to admit failure to a younger brother. “I’m trying.”

  Charlie stared past her. “Call for Nathan to wheel me to my room.”

  The abrupt dismissal stung. “Why? I can do it.”

  “Because you have a visitor.” He pointed to the street, where Rourke O’Malley drew near, an oleander blossom in his hand.

  His hair was trimmed, his whiskers shaved, and he wore what must be his Sunday best—a tan-colored frock coat and dark trousers. His boots had been polished and a cravat was tied smartly atop a brilliant white shirt. Only the straw hat looked out of place. He doffed it with his free hand and bowed.

  Elizabeth’s hand flew to her hair. “Do I look all right? I should have had Anabelle curl my hair. I should be wearing a bonnet or at least a cap.”

  “Stop.” Charlie grimaced. “You sound like a girl.”

  “I am a girl.” Or a woman, rather. A woman of twenty, and a man was paying her a visit. Though she’d had a dozen and more gentlemen call at Aunt Virginia’s house, none had sent her heart pounding and her insides fluttering like Rourke O’Malley.

  “Good morning, Miss Benjamin.” His gaze drifted to her brother. “Charlie.”

  To her surprise, her brother grinned at Rourke. “I was wondering when you’d get up the courage for another whuppin’.”

  “Whupping?” Elizabeth looked from Rourke to her brother and still didn’t understand.

  “Rourke plays chess with me,” Charlie explained.

  “I have yet to win.” Rourke climbed the porch steps and handed her the flower. “I remember how much you liked your mother’s oleanders.”

&nbs
p; Her eyes misted. “They were beautiful, but the storm destroyed them.” She drew the fragrant bloom to her nose and savored the memory.

  “I’m surprised she didn’t replant them.”

  “Me too. I wish she had.”

  Charlie cleared his throat, turned from Rourke, and bellowed, “Nathan!”

  Elizabeth heard the groom hurrying to the front of the house. He appeared momentarily, a blackened cotton rag in hand. “Beggin’ yore pardon, Master Charles, I plumb fergot about fetchin’ you.”

  “I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Elizabeth admitted. “Florie can handle the rest of the silver polishing. You see to Charlie’s needs.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Her brother gave her a look of grudging approval before bidding Rourke farewell.

  “Do stay,” she said, knowing that she needed a chaperone yet wanting to be alone with Rourke.

  Charlie looked from Rourke to her with a smug grin. “I have to get back to my studies. Come back tomorrow, Captain, and I’ll give you a thrashing fit for an admiral.”

  The bravado brought a smile to her lips. Her brother had changed so much that she barely knew him. The young Charlie had reveled in grand tales of adventure yet was timid out-of-doors. He hated the boat and refused to swim. He avoided confrontation. She would have thought the trauma he’d suffered would make him more timid. Instead, he spoke boldly and maintained a friendship with Rourke that Father could not like.

  Rourke shook Charlie’s hand. “You have a bargain, Master Charles, but you won’t be the one giving the thrashing.”

  Charlie laughed. “We shall see.”

  Then Nathan wheeled him into the house, leaving Elizabeth alone with Rourke, a breach of propriety that Aunt would decry to Father if she ever found out. Perhaps sitting on the veranda in full public view was not the best idea.

  “Would you care to sit in the parlor?” Elizabeth suggested.

  “Your aunt is home?”

  She shook her head. “She is at market with Cook.”

  “Then no, I must not stay. I simply wanted to know if you and your aunt have recovered.”