A Most Unconventional Courtship

by Louise Allen

  ‘But that’s impossible. Demetri, it is all a mistake; perhaps they have just gone to look at the ship.’

  ‘No!’ The boy stamped his foot. ‘No! They said all the luggage went on board this morning, and I made Cook take me up to Alessa’s room and it’s all gone. And her aunt told Lady Trevick she’s had a message and they had to leave and go to Venice in a hurry. But she would never have left us, never.’ His face crumpled and he began to sob, all his anger draining away, leaving only despair. ‘I thought you were our friend, but you told her to go to the ship without us.’

  ‘No, I didn’t know. Demetri, we’ve both been tricked.’ Chance felt cold, whether from fear for Alessa, or anger, he did not trouble to analyse. ‘Do you know which ship it is?’

  The lad nodded, scrubbing his sleeve across his face. ‘I went and had a look yesterday,’ he muttered.

  ‘Come on, then.’ Chance swung up on to the horse, which had been caught and was standing placidly in the midst of the expostulating cricketers. ‘Sorry, Michaels, this is an emergency—pass me the boy, will you?’

  The Captain tossed up Demetri and Chance drove his heels into the animal’s sides, dragging its head round towards the Old Fort. Fortunately it seemed an obedient beast, despite the uproar and the lack of bit or saddle. ‘That way…’ Demetri pointed to the left, and they clattered across the roadway and on to the waterfront. ‘It’s still there, see! Make her come back!’

  ‘Right.’ Chance took a deep breath and tried to think. ‘I’ll find someone with a rowing boat and I’ll get out there and bring her back. See, the sails are still furled up, we’ve got time.’

  ‘Promise, you must promise!’

  ‘I promise.’He seized the boy by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I swear on my honour that I will bring her back home. Now, let’s find a boat.’ There wasn’t one, nothing tied up to the waterfront and nothing within hailing distance either.

  ‘There’s the harbour the other side,’ Demetri started to say, as Chance was trying to work out if he could ride into the fort and out along its seaward side close enough to hail the ship. They must have some form of small boats in the fort.

  ‘Come on—’

  ‘Look!’ Demetri pointed. The merchant ship was lying perhaps two hundred yards out from the shore and the outbreak of shouting carried clear across the water. As they watched, a slim figure in fluttering white appeared on the rail near the prow, clung to the rigging for a moment, then dived.

  ‘Oh, my God. Alessa.’ For a moment Chance stopped breathing, then she surfaced and struck out for the shore of the fort. She can swim like a fish, he reminded himself desperately as he stripped off his coat and yanked at his shoes. But she’s fully dressed in all those damn frills and petticoats. ‘Demetri, find a boat, anything that will float. Tell them I’ll pay them whatever they want, in gold.’ He boosted the boy up on to the horse, thrust the rope into his hand and sent it off with a clap on the rump before turning and diving into the water.

  The temptation was to flail through the water, risking exhaustion. Chance forced himself into a strong, steady stroke, ignoring the drag of his water sodden clothes. Down at this level he could not see Alessa, so he checked his bearings against the ship and struck out for a line halfway between that and the fort. They were lowering a boat from the ship, swaying down on ropes. The men were already in it, oars hoisted upright to clear the sides. They would be an experienced crew, good strong rowers. Chance redoubled his efforts.

  Through the water in his ears, and the roaring of his blood, he heard shouting, stopped, trod water and looked. The boat had reached Alessa and the men were hauling her, struggling furiously, out of the water. At least she was conscious and could struggle. Doggedly Chance adjusted his line and began to swim for the ship, still a hundred yards away. There was more shouting, a rumbling sound. He risked breaking stroke again and saw they were hauling up the anchor. The sails were crashing down from the cross-staves—they were making ready to put to sea.

  His legs and arms felt as though they were held together by hot wires now, and the breath was rasping painfully in his throat. Where the hell was Demetri and the boat? It was too late. As he trod water again to correct his angle he saw the rowing boat had reached the ship, a sailor was climbing the rope ladder, something white draped over his shoulder. Already, as they began to haul up the boat, the ship was gathering way, slipping out of harbour towards Vidos Island.

  Defeated, Chance hung in the water, straining to catch some glimpse of Alessa, but they must have hustled her below.

  ‘Hey! Catch hold!’ An oar splashed behind him and he turned, taking a wave in the face. As Chance spat out salt water he could make out Voltar Zagrede’s familiar face, a rope in his hands as he leaned over the bows of a boat rowed by two stalwart sailors. ‘You think you can swim to Venice, Benedict, my foolish friend? Eh?’

  Chance caught the rope and was unceremoniously hauled over the side, to collapse gasping like a landed fish on the bottom boards. The Count snapped something at the rowers and they began to turn the boat.

  ‘They’ve got Alessa, tricked her on board without the children,’ he managed to croak.

  ‘I know, the boy told me. You want to get her back?’ The Count tossed him a piece of canvas. ‘Here, wrap that round your shoulders.’

  ‘Of course I want to get her back, damn it!’

  ‘Right. We take my ship. It is faster than that thing she’s on—fat-bottomed trader.’ He spat over the side and made a remark in Albanian to the rowers, who cackled.

  ‘You’ll do that?’ Chance began to shiver and dragged the canvas tighter.

  ‘But of course. It is not a nice thing to do, to trick a young lady like that. And it will be amusing, to have something to chase.’ His smile was feline as they bumped against the harbour wall.

  Demetri was pacing frantically up and down, his grubby cheeks tracked with tears, his face twisted with distress.

  ‘Right, now then.’ The Count clambered ashore and caught Demetri by the shoulders. ‘You, boy, go back to the good woman who looks after you and tell her what has happened: your Alessa has been kidnapped and we go to rescue her. No! Do not use that face with me—who looks after your sister if you come with us? You, my friend, you go and get dry clothes, a valise, your weapons, and come back to the Venetian harbour as soon as may be. And then we hunt.’ And this time the smile was not that of a cat—all Chance could think of were wolves.

  Chance managed to get Demetri back to Kate, despite his protests. ‘The bastards,’ she swore, all pretence at gentility cast aside. ‘Don’t you worry none, my lord, I’ll look after the children until you get her back. And stop all this nonsense and give her a damn good kissing when you get her,’ she yelled at him as he ran, dripping still, down the stairs.

  The stable yard at the Residency was in a state of recrimination and confusion when he arrived back and slid off the horse. ‘My lord! Where did you find the animal? It is his Excellency’s best hunter—that wretched boy stole it, but I have the word out for him to be apprehended.’ The head groom was almost beside himself.

  ‘The boy only borrowed it in order to reach me in an emergency. See to it he is not punished. Have someone ready to drive me down to the harbour in a gig in fifteen minutes.’

  Leaving the grooms gaping after him, Chance entered the Residency at a run, taking the stairs two at a time. On the landing he almost knocked Lady Trevick off her feet. She gave a small scream, then stepped back to look at him as he stood there dripping on her polished floorboards. ‘Lord Blakeney! What has happened? Has there been a boating accident?’

  ‘Did you know Lady Blackstone has sailed, taking Alessa with her, Lady Trevick?’ he demanded.

  ‘Why, yes. I was so sorry not to be able to say goodbye properly to Miss Meredith. Apparently Lady Blackstone’s husband is most anxious for her early return and the repairs to the ship…’

  ‘She tricked Alessa aboard and has sailed without the children because she did
not want to take them, and Alessa refused to leave without them.’

  ‘What! But why would she not take them? From what I have seen of them, they are delightful children.’

  ‘She is afraid of scandal,’ Chance said grimly. ‘She thinks people will believe them to be Alessa’s own offspring.’

  ‘What nonsense!’ Lady Trevick shook her head in exasperation. ‘I will give her scandal, foolish woman! Anyone can see the ages do not work out, and neither child bears the slightest resemblance to Alessa. I will write to my sister in London—Honoria Blackstone will find the true story has reached home long before she does.’

  ‘Alessa would not wish her family to be exposed to ill will,’ Chance cautioned.

  ‘Of course not. I will say nothing of Honoria’s idiocy, simply that Alessa has so bravely brought up two charming orphans. Such a pretty story. In fact, her whole tale is so romantic, do you not think?’

  ‘It is turning into a positively Gothick novel,’ Chance said with a grim smile. ‘Ma’am, I have no idea when I will get back, and I must change now.’ He was conscious of the spreading pool of water around his feet and the clammy clothes clinging to him.

  ‘It is no matter when you return. Just make sure you bring her with you when you do…’ she paused as he padded wetly into his room ‘…and give her a kiss—with my love, of course.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Count’s ship was ready when Chance reached it. He tossed a valise on to the deck as he came up the gangplank, his other hand full of his box of pistols and his sword. Zagrede paused long enough to clap him on the shoulder, then began shouting orders. Within minutes they were slipping out of the harbour and rounding the point of the Old Fort.

  ‘You are very much in command,’ Chance commented, watching the Count giving orders to the helmsman. ‘Do you not have a sailing master?’

  ‘Oh, yes. A good man. But when I hunt, I like to lead.’He gestured to a seaman and snapped an order. ‘This man will show you your cabin.’

  Chance ducked below, surprised at the comfort, almost elegance, of the fittings. The ship was panelled in fine woods, brass gleamed. The cabin he was shown to had a fine coverlet on the bunk and gimballed lights over a fixed desk. He changed rapidly into the clothes he had worn on the long voyage through the Mediterranean, and which he had used when his leg was injured. He left his feet bare to grip on the deck and picked up his sword consideringly.

  No, too melodramatic, for heaven’s sake. They would simply overhaul the merchantman, explain that the lady was being taken against her will and remove Alessa in a civilised manner. This was hardly the Spanish Main. He grinned in self-mockery at the thought of swinging on to the deck with a boarding party, cutlass between his teeth, then tossed the sword back on the bunk and made his way back up the companionway to the deck.

  ‘Ah, you have the clothes for a voyage, my friend.’

  ‘I brought these with me for comfort at sea on the journey here—I did not expect to find myself so close to the action.’ Some instinct led him to change the subject. Chance stared ahead, straining for a sight of white sails, but could see nothing but fishing boats. ‘The coasts are very close together up ahead.’ The looming bulk of Albania seemed almost to touch the island. The channel was a mile, if that, across.

  ‘Yes, indeed. It is most convenient.’

  To Chance’s eye they seemed to be heading, not for the gap, but for the Albanian coast.

  Within the hour he was proved right. Without orders from Zagrede the ship glided into a deep inlet, the mainsails came down and it was steered smoothly into a hidden harbour.

  Cabins and workshops stretched along the dockside, other ships, all smaller than the one they were on, but all with the same lean, predatory lines, were tied alongside, the whole place was a bustle of activity.

  ‘One of my ports,’ the Count explained casually as they tied up.

  ‘But why are we stopping? Do you need to take on provisions?’

  ‘No, we need to change the ship, my friend. Now, we are traders no longer.’

  Chance looked around again. There was nothing bigger, surely nothing faster. Men began to climb the rigging, the white sails were lashed up, then freed and lowered to the deck. In their place the seamen began to haul up a grey set. Along the sides men were hammering and freeing long planks of wood. Leaning over, Chance could see that, in effect, they were removing false sides. Revealed were the sinister black eyes of gun ports.

  Zagrede snapped his fingers and a man began to haul up a flag. It snapped free and open in the wind and Chance looked up at a snarling silver wolf’s head on a black ground.

  He stared at the Count in dawning comprehension. ‘You are a pirate. This is a pirate ship.’

  ‘But of course. my friend. Welcome aboard the Ghost.’

  Alessa landed in an undignified, panting heap of sodden clothes and sprawled there on the deck, struggling to recover her breath. Gradually the shaking in her limbs subsided and she raised her head and stared around. Someone had thrown a cloak over her. Above, the sails snapped in the wind as the ship heeled to get on to course. She was at sea. They were sailing and the children were left behind on the island without the slightest idea what had happened to her.

  She tried to stand and someone took her arm, steadying her. ‘Oh, poor Alexandra, are you all right now?’

  Frances. ‘No, I am not all right.’ It was hard to speak without screaming in rage and frustration. With an effort Alessa kept her voice low and steady as she looked at her cousin’s pretty, anxious face. ‘I have been kidnapped and the children are still on Corfu.’

  ‘Oh, no, you have not been kidnapped. It is all for your own good. Mama warned me you would be upset at first,’ Frances said soothingly, as though speaking to someone simple-minded. ‘She said the children did not want to come and made themselves ill crying when she tried to persuade them.’

  ‘Your mother has said but a dozen words to them,’ Alessa retorted. ‘And none of them were to encourage them to come with us. Take me to the captain.’

  ‘No, dear.’ It was Lady Blackstone, smiling grimly, a neatly dressed man at her side. ‘You see, Dr Cobb, quite distracted, poor child. I have hopes of a recovery if we can get her to rest quietly. What the cause of the problem is, I have no idea—perhaps there was instability on her mother’s side. When we return to London I shall call in the leading specialists in hysterical maladies. No expense will be spared for my poor niece’

  Alessa stared around her. They were well out of harbour now, too far to swim; in any case, there was no hope of that if they saw her jump. Resisting now would only get her confined under lock and key, perhaps even physically restrained, for her aunt appeared to have convinced the doctor that she was mentally unstable.

  She put up a trembling hand to her face. ‘I don’t know what happened,’ she murmured. ‘Did I fall in? I want to lie down.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ the doctor said soothingly ‘Now, this nice man will carry you to your cabin.’ Alessa found herself scooped up by a seaman. ‘Miss Blackstone, would you accompany me? I am sure your cousin would want your support.’

  Finally, undressed and washed by Frances, reluctantly assisted by Lady Blackstone’s bracket-faced maid, Alessa was tucked up in bed. The doctor reappeared to urge her to take a paregoric drink of his own invention and finally, mercifully, she was left in peace.

  Who knew what had happened? Presumably Lady Trevick had been given some tale to convince her that all was well, or Aunt Honoria would be creating the very scandal she sought to avert. Kate and the children would have no idea what had occurred. When they became worried at not hearing, they would go to the Residency—and find she had left them without a word.

  They would be so hurt. Alessa tried to imagine it, biting her lip to keep back the tears. Demetri would pretend to be brave, but inside he would feel betrayed, lost and bewildered. And little Dora, who had been abandoned once already—would she ever recover?

  But they were with Kate, a
nd Kate would know something was wrong, that Alessa would never leave like that without a word. Kate would reassure them she had not gone willingly and she would look after them like a mother cat with kittens until Alessa managed to get back to them.

  Who else knew? The memory swept back like a black cloud. Chance knew. Chance had handed over the note to Frances, who, looking back now, had obviously known all about the plan to sail. And as he had left he had looked at her so strangely, had said goodbye. He had known. He had lied to her, tricked her, after all he had promised. She had been betrayed by the man she loved. For respectability. For convention.

  Alessa turned over, seized the pillow from behind her head and punched it with all her might. Right from the beginning Chance had supported her return to England and her family. He had found excuses for her aunt’s attitude and behaviour and had pressed on her the importance of conforming to English society.

  She lay on the bunk, almost oblivious to the motion of the ship and the discomfort of her bruised, aching body. I am going to escape, I am going to get back here to the children, we will make our own way to England and cause my aunt the greatest possible embarrassment. And then I am going to make Benedict Casper Chancellor, Earl of Blakeney, wish he had never been born.

  ‘Are you insane? Do you hope to get away with this?’ Chance strode furiously along the deck of the Ghost as the Count made his dispositions. Men were coming on board with guns slung over their shoulders, a strange mix of antiques with immensely long barrels and the latest modern rifles. All had a sword and a long knife thrust through their belts; all looked as though they knew exactly what they were about.

  ‘Away with what?’ Zagrede grinned as he stopped aside to allow several baskets of bread to be carried below.

  ‘With kidnapping an English Earl, for a start, let alone whatever else you are intending.’

  ‘My dear Benedict, you are not being kidnapped! What an idea. You came on board willingly, in broad daylight under the eyes of the sentries on the fort. No, you will be carried on precisely the journey you wished to take—the pursuit of the merchant ship Plymouth Sound.’