by Lori Bond
“It doesn’t matter,” Jerry said, finally entering the conversation. “We’ll act as if the man will be present. We do have the element of surprise, after all. It’s unlikely he is aware that Caroline is free.”
Caroline smiled, a cruel smile, one that meant she had not forgiven the indignities from earlier that evening. “He expects Jerry and perhaps Mrs. Turnton or Wellburn. He won’t expect me.” She glanced over at her dearest friend. “And he probably discounted Olive.”
“To his detriment.” Olive’s frown was nearly as chilling as Caroline’s smile.
Caroline turned to Jerry. “I assume you brought weapons of some sort.”
“I have two pistols in my trunk in my room.” Jerry frowned. “They would be most effective with you and Olive. I take it you plan to sneak up on Hillard while Mrs. Turnton and I distract him?”
Caroline nodded. “We’ll each circle the ship from a different direction and come at him from the sides.” Olive nodded in agreement.
“Then, I will give you two the guns, if you know how to shoot them.”
Olive bit on the bottom of her lip. “Lady Caroline’s brother taught her back when she still lived at the country house, but I’ve never held a firearm.”
“And my knowledge is three years out of date.” Caroline tapped her fingers against her torn dress. “I would hate to aim wide and accidentally strike someone else.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mrs. Turnton said. “Under no circumstances is either of you to actually fire a shot. The captain would have us all locked away. The pistols are for threatening the man, nothing more. For that matter, my lord, you and I should have the pistols since we are the ones that will be visible, and they will help to hold the spy’s attention while the girls get into position.” The corners of Mrs. Turnton’s lips twitched up as if she were holding in a giggle, assuming Mrs. Turnton was capable of something as undignified as a giggle. “Besides I have a much better weapon in mind. My lord, if you will retrieve your pistols, I will hasten to my cabin for arms for the girls.” Without waiting for an answer, Mrs. Turnton strode from the room, and Olive hurried out after her.
When Jerry didn’t immediately follow them, Caroline realized she had him to herself for only a moment before they would have to rejoin the mission.
“I’m glad you are all right,” Jerry murmured. He ran his hands up and down her arms as if reassuring himself that she really was fine. Although she couldn’t feel his fingers through the long-sleeved gown, little trails of fire still ran along her arms. She half expected to see lines of light illuminating them.
“I’m glad you trusted me to be all right,” Caroline murmured back. She smiled, and Jerry’s focus seemed to narrow onto her lips. She reached up and cupped his cheek with one hand. Jerry’s head turned slightly into her palm as if to maximize her touch. “When this is over,” she whispered, “I’m expecting a dazzling proposal.” Jerry smiled, but she didn’t give him a chance to answer. Rising to the very tips of her toes so she might reach, she kissed him.
This kiss left her just as breathless as their first, if not more so. After all, she had initiated this kiss, a daring feat she never would have thought herself capable of before tonight. Caroline deepened the kiss just a bit but broke it off before she could become completely lost to the sensations.
Caroline opened her eyes, surprised to discover she had closed them. Jerry stared at her, a variety of emotions chasing each other across his face, too fast for her to decipher them. He pulled her into an embrace his nose almost touching hers. “Marry me?” he asked, his eyes searching hers as though he thought he would be able to read the answers there.
Caroline pulled back slightly, quirking her mouth up on one side. “Not exactly dazzling, but I suppose it will have to do.”
“Oh, I’ll give you dazzling.” Jerry’s mischievous grin had her wanting to kiss him again. “I’m saving it for our wedding night.”
Caroline’s mouth dropped open, and she felt her entire body heat up, partly from mortification and partly from some tingling sensation she didn’t quite understand. Jerry laughed at her expression and reluctantly let her go.
“Mrs. Turnton was right,” he said. He took her hand and headed for the door to the cabin. “You are much too innocent to have played a widow.”
Chapter 42
Although to anyone passing them in the corridor it would appear that Jerry escorted Caroline, in reality, she was the one setting their quick pace. Jerry was all but lightheaded, his mind floating with the stars they had glimpsed in the night sky. Caroline was going to marry him. They had a very real chance at apprehending the Russian agent in a compromising position. Only the continued unexplained absence of Wellburn marred his perfect evening.
And then there had been that kiss. Their last kiss alone occupied most of his thoughts as they traveled the short distance to his stateroom. That Caroline had kissed him shouldn’t have surprised him. His Caroline had proved herself fearless in so many ways that her continuing boldness should be taken as the norm. He had been surprised though. She had seemed so alarmed after their first kiss and so relieved to be alive to barely notice their second, that he had feared it would take days, perhaps weeks before she would be comfortable enough to allow him to kiss her when the threat of mortal danger didn’t loom.
Jerry let go of the hand Caroline rested on his arm only so he might fish out his key and unlock his door. He stepped through, and his jaw nearly met the ground. Wellburn sat at the writing desk, his back to the door, scribbling away at something.
“Where the devil have you been?” Jerry nearly shouted, the fears he’d been tamping down all evening bleeding out into his words.
Wellburn stood from the desk in one fluid motion, giving the couple a small bow. “My apologies, my lord. I didn’t realize you desired my services.”
“Good God, man. I didn’t want your services. No one had seen you since before dinner. Caroline had been kidnapped, and you seemed to have disappeared. We feared the worst.”
Wellburn’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch, but otherwise he gave no indication that the news had affected him. He gave Caroline a short bow. “My lady, may I offer my congratulations on your successful escape?”
Caroline giggled, probably struck by the absurdity of it all. “Congratulate us on our upcoming marriage instead.”
Emotion did manage to break through Wellburn’s granite mask of a face then. His smile was as bright and possibly as ridiculous as the one Jerry knew covered his own face. His man strode over clearly intent on wringing his hand when Jerry surprised them both by pulling him into a quick hug instead. Sharing the news with his other father deserved more than a simple handshake, no matter how heartfelt.
Caroline cleared her throat, reminding Jerry of the mission. “Since Bryce demanded the plans as ransom for Caroline’s return, is it safe to assume you found them?”
Wellburn turned back to the writing desk. “I did. The man had hidden them in a book in the Second-Class Parlor’s library. I brought the plans back here to make a false copy that I hoped to replace in the book before Bryce realized their absence.”
“Similar to the fake plans hidden among the Kimbley’s art?” Jerry asked.
“Yes, only a far superior forgery.” Wellburn had raised his eyebrows to imply that naturally his forgery would be indistinguishable from the original. “The errors I have introduced are only detectable by a trained engineer.”
“How would you know that?” asked Caroline.
The knowledge hit Jerry as if a crate of bricks had fallen on his face. “Because you are one, aren’t you? That’s how you knew the Kimbleys’ plans were false. Why didn’t you say something?”
Wellburn gave a slight shrug, barely noticeable. If Jerry had blinked, he would have missed it. “I once clerked in an engineering firm at the behest of your father. As always, I picked up some knowledge of the discipline at that time.”
Jerry shook his head, more at himself than at Wellburn. He had to st
op underestimating the people around him.
“I don’t understand about the book though,” Caroline said. “It seems like such an insecure place to hide the plans. Anyone might pick the book up and find them.”
Wellburn gave a small snort to show his low opinion of the spy. “A risk, but a low one. I found them in a book of platitudes attributed to Tsar Ivan the Terrible written in Cyrillic Russian. Most likely Hillard and I are the only ones on the entire ship who could read it.”
Because of course Wellburn read Russian. Of course he did.
“Doesn’t matter now,” Jerry said. “He knows we have the plans. Is your forgery complete?”
“Not quite, but it would pass a cursory inspection. In the midst of a ransom retrieval, I would not expect Hillard to study the plans in detail.”
Jerry nodded. “Then bring them. Fold them in such a way that he’ll be able to tell what they are. That way he might not do more than glance at them.” Jerry turned and headed for his trunk. Despite the pained noises Wellburn made behind him, he tossed most of the contents to the floor in his rush to find the two pistols. Triumphant, he turned back to give one to Wellburn. In exchange, Wellburn handed him the false plans. For a moment, Jerry was irritated that his man hadn’t given him the real ones as well, but he immediately realized the value of keeping the two separate. He wouldn’t want to hand over the real ones by accident. It also made sense to have the most experienced agent in the room keep the originals, no matter how much it stung Jerry’s pride.
“Let’s go apprehend this agent before he does any more damage.” Jerry turned and led his party from the room.
Chapter 43
In the corridor, Mrs. Turnton and Olive met them. Olive carried a pair of slingshots, two parasols trimmed in lace, and two sharp hat pins she had stuck crosswise through the knot of hair she wore on the top of her head.
Caroline gaped for a moment wondering how Mrs. Turnton could possibly have considered those weapons to be superior to a pair of pistols. She turned to ask, and her mouth fell open even further. At this rate, she was going to spend the rest of the evening standing about with an unhinged jaw.
Mrs. Turnton and Wellburn weren’t locked in one another’s embrace or something as unseemly as that. Their reunion wasn’t as dramatic as Caroline and Jerry’s, but it was clear it was just as heartfelt for all that. They stood together heads nearly touching as they murmured to one another. Caroline guessed Wellburn was reassuring Mrs. Turnton of his continued safety. Tears glistened in Mrs. Turnton’s eyes, but they never fell down her face. Wellburn’s hand hovered as if to brush Mrs. Turnton’s arm, but it never quite made contact. Caroline glanced at Jerry, and she could see he was as affected by their pain as she was. There was nothing she could do, though, but take Jerry’s hand and squeeze it, grateful she was able to marry the man she loved. With a final nod on Mrs. Turnton’s part, the pair turned and faced the group, Wellburn once more impassive, and Mrs. Turnton a woman made of steel. Olive, Jerry, and Caroline all pretended that the intimate moment they had all witnessed had never happened.
“Olive, please hand Lady Caroline her arms.” Mrs. Turnton fussed with something in her reticule, and everyone politely looked away.
Olive handed Caroline a slingshot she didn’t know how to use and a parasol. The girl slipped one of the pins from her own hair into Caroline’s tumbling down knot of hair that had once been a neat bun surrounded by impeccable sausage curls.
“In your hands is one of my sword parasols.” Mrs. Turnton had fully composed herself and had returned to the no-nonsense woman Caroline had come to appreciate. “There’s a small button on the side of the handle.”
Caroline pressed it, but no sword appeared. Instead the parasol popped open. Caroline grimaced and scrambled to close the thing back up.
“Not that button.” Mrs. Turnton seemed to be having trouble controlling her temper. Perhaps she wasn’t as unaffected as she appeared. She gestured to a smaller button, closer to the edge of the handle. Caroline pressed it, and the top half of the parasol fell away, leaving a sword similar to the needle-like blades used for sport.
Caroline slipped the parasol back on the sword and nodded. She didn’t want to think about her poor chances against an experienced swordsman, but it was unlikely the Russian agent had brought a saber onboard.
After a final kiss from Jerry, Olive and Caroline separated from the others. They headed towards the door that let onto the port side of the ship while Caroline and Olive headed for the one on the starboard side. They separated once outside. Olive headed left towards the front of the ship. Caroline turned right. She hiked up her skirts and ran as fast as the acres of fabric allowed. She thanked the stars above that Wellburn had been unable to find a wire-cage underskirt. The stiffened crinolines were bad enough for running. She would have to find a pair of trousers that could be worn for future missions.
The wind tugged at the fabric in Caroline’s hand and threatened to rip the parasol out of her grasp, even though it had been folded and secured. The cold bit through the thin fabric of her gown’s sleeves, and she regretted forgetting to don a coat. She worried that Olive, so recently out of bed from her illness, would be adversely affected by the cold. Olive hadn’t remembered to grab an outer garment either, and her dress was no warmer than the one on Caroline.
Caroline’s feet pounded the deck, the sound carrying over the noise of the belching smoke stacks and the froth in the ocean churned up by the ship’s engines. She knew she would have to choose discretion over speed soon, but she hoped the bulk of the ship masked from the Russian spy the clamor she was making. Surely, he waited on the port side for Jerry to bring the plans.
The cold wind made it hard to breathe, but Caroline plowed on through the cold, around the corner to the back of the ship. She barreled past a couple gazing at the stars. They gave her open-mouthed stares, but Caroline didn’t have time to care about her ripped dress or the indignity of her passage. It would take Jerry and his companions no time at all to cross the ship from the interior. It was possible they were already confronting the spy.
When she reached the corner for the port side, she forced herself to slow down. She resented the loss of speed, but she couldn’t afford to alert the spy of her presence. The fact that he thought her safely contained in the cargo hold was her only advantage.
Not dropping her skirts, Caroline crept as fast as she could from shadow to shadow towards the port door. About halfway there, she began to hear the murmur of voices. She couldn’t tell if they were her friends or another group of passengers. She dropped her skirts and pulled the sword free of its parasol scabbard. With the parasol in her left hand and the sword in her right, she crept towards the voices. She ducked down next to the railing so that her entire body, including her voluminous dress was hidden in the shadow cast by the side of the ship.
She inched forward, straining to hear what was happening in front of her.
Chapter 44
Jerry led Wellburn and Mrs. Turnton through the ship. They stepped through the port door and glanced around. Without discussion, the two older adults flanked Jerry, so that the three made a small V with Jerry at the point. Jerry had kept his pistol in his pocket, but Wellburn held his loose at his side. Mrs. Turnton had a hand in her reticule. Jerry had no doubt that she hid a pistol in there, too.
They stood there for a moment but nothing seemed to happen. When no one jumped out at them and no demands awaited them, the righteous anger that had supported Jerry through the door began to leach out of him, siphoned away by the cold. Jerry struggled to suppress a shiver. In their rush to confront the spy, no one had thought to grab a coat. If Jerry had found his walk on the deck chilly before, he found standing in the brisk wind with no coat excruciating. For a moment he worried about Caroline and Olive. Neither girl had remembered so much as a cloak. They had to be freezing in their thin gowns.
A noise to the left caught Jerry’s attention. Wellburn touched Jerry’s arm and motioned with his head in the dir
ection of the sound. Jerry nodded, and they followed Wellburn down the side of the boat. Aware of the possible dangers, Jerry drew his gun and aimed at the darkness. He scanned every shadow, but nothing appeared.
Another noise, this one a bit more discernable over the wash of the waves echoed back to them. It sounded as if someone was throwing rocks against a metal casing. The trio rounded a stack of deck chairs propped against the wall of the ship. Before them, a man leaned his back against the railing. The lantern placed beneath the rails backlit the man leaving nothing but a rough silhouette. Still, Jerry would have bet his entire Danvers inheritance that the man was the Russian agent Bryce.
“Stop,” the man commanded.
Jerry had never heard Bryce speak, but this man spoke with a slight Russian accent, confirming the identity of the spy. He clearly had no intentions of further hiding if he was allowing even his accent to show.
Wellburn and the rest stopped although both men aimed their pistols at the spy. Behind Jerry, Mrs. Turnton sniffed. Jerry couldn’t tell if it was due to the cold or her disdain for the agent before them.
The man didn’t seem threatening as he leaned against the rails, one leg negligently crossed in front of the other. His entire front, including his arms, were in shadow, but Jerry had no doubt that the man held a weapon aimed at them. It would be lunacy for anyone to come to such a meeting unarmed.
“Did you bring what I asked?” The man didn’t move. It was as if the voice drifted out of the air.
“I did,” Jerry said. He pushed past Wellburn just a bit so that once more the three made a triangle with Jerry at the head. “Where is my wife?”
The man snorted, but he didn’t call Jerry out on the lie. “The plans,” he said instead.
Jerry held up the false plans. Wellburn had folded them so that the drawing of the bayonet was visible even from a distance.
The spy must have been able to discern the drawing because the silhouetted head nodded. “Put them in that container there.” He pointed to a deck table that had been unfolded and pulled out from the wall. On it sat a small canister. “Just you, my lord,” the agent added. “No one else needs to move.”
