Captain Desmond gave her a critical look. She glanced away to stare at the deck.
“Follow me.”
He led her downstairs to a cabin other than his own. No sooner had they entered he said, “Where are they?”
She reached into the folds of her robe and retrieved the pouch of coins. “Here,” she said, tossing them at him.
He opened the sack and examined the contents. When a smile appeared on his face, she relaxed somewhat.
“Excellent,” he said. “And, are you really a friar?” He studied her. “Rather a trifle of a man, aren’t ye?”
“ ‘Tis no concern of yours,” she answered in her deepest voice. “You have what you want.” She opened the door to the cabin.
“Tell Roderick I’ll be in touch.”
“Aye,” she answered with much control, and calmly made her way up to the outer deck and off the ship. Finally, when she was out of sight of the Aurora, she raised the hem of her robe and ran until she could run no longer. Still, the late hour and the darkness frightened her. Each step she took made her ever aware of her surroundings— ever alert to the forces at work at night.
Some five blocks later, she hailed a ride and returned to the inn. It was only then that she dared to relax. Her disguise as a friar had kept her unharmed and undetected by authorities although she received many an odd look. A friar who wandered the wharf alone was not: a common sight.
Relief was only momentary for when she approached the staircase to her bedchamber, a man with a woeful voice cried out to her. “Friar, please, I need your assistance.”
She turned around and obliged the forlorn, middle-aged man. She took a seat near him before a low burning peat fire and kept her head down low.
“What grieves you so?” she asked the pock-faced man.
“I’m not long for this world,” he confessed.
“You look healthy to me. Why do you talk in such a way?” She noticed the man’s voice had a bit of a slur and surmised he had indulged in several drinks that eve already.
“I saw the red glow.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, clearly uncomprehending what a red glow had to do with death.
“ ‘Tis a seaman’s tale—an omen about the sea glowing a red fire. Anyone who sees this glow dies shortly thereafter.” The man sobbed into his hands. “I’m so afraid.”
“It’s just a tale,” she tried to assure him. “Many times sailors make up stories to keep them busy at sea. I’m sure this is one of them,” she said, not knowing what else to say to the man. She, too, was a bit superstitious, but this was a bit much to fathom.
“I’ve left a note for me wife and children. I’ve said prayers at Christ Church and made peace with the Almighty, but a few more prayers wouldn’t hurt. Would ye pray with me now?”
What else could she do except agree? For the next hour she sat with the man until she became dangerously close to dozing off and could think of nothing more to pray about for the man.
“ ‘Tis time. I must retire,” she said, at last.
“Aye,” the man agreed. “Thank you. I feel better.”
She trudged upstairs to her room. God in heaven, she thought, closed the door, and locked it behind her. Without benefit of a light, she dove into the bed, clothes and all. “Sleep, glorious sleep,” she murmured into the not-so-fresh bed linens and escaped to dreamland.
Several hours later at dawn’s first light, she was rudely awakened by a commotion outside her door. What was all the shouting about? she wondered and sat upright in bed.
“I tell you he’s dead,” were the first coherent words she heard.
Chapter Five
By the time Elizabeth could change from friar’s attire to her own gown and cloak, the commotion in the passageway had dissipated.
“I’d like to speak to the innkeeper,” she told a pretty young chambermaid who scurried her way.
“He’s with the constable and the reverend. Ye have a wait ahead of ye,” the maid informed her.
“What has happened?”
“Some gent just up and died on us. He said he would, and be God he did.” The chambermaid made the sign of the cross. “God rest his soul.”
Elizabeth nodded. “What did this man look like?”
“Like most men ‘cept his face was heavily scarred from the pox.”
“I won’t need the innkeeper after all.” Elizabeth turned and fled from the premises of White’s Inn.
Had the man she’d prayed with talked himself into his own death? Was it possible? Or, was there some mysterious force at work behind this red glow he had seen across the sea? Had it snuffed out his life? Nay. She shivered. It was not possible.
So engrossed over the news of the man’s death, she was a block from home when it first occurred to her to hail a ride. She stepped up her pace so in a short while she was in the entryway of her own town house.
Hannah no sooner appeared in the room. “I heard the door and hoped it was ye, cracker. Did ye have a good time at Charlotte’s?”
“Aye,” Elizabeth answered. Pangs of guilt washed over her. It hurt to have to lie to Hannah.
“Here. Let me take your travel bag.”
“I’ll see to it,” Elizabeth hurriedly replied. “I’m going upstairs anyway. Any word on father?” Elizabeth asked though she knew there would be none.
Hannah confirmed Elizabeth’s thoughts with a sad face and shake of the head.
Elizabeth patted Hannah’s hand. “We must be strong,” she said for Hannah’s benefit. “I’ll be in my bedchamber if you need me. I want to work on those invitations Madam Perkins asked me to script for her masquerade ball.” Elizabeth gave Hannah her cloak and retreated to her quarters.
On one side of the bedchamber’s only window was a wing chair. On the other, where light was the brightest for her calligraphy, stood her escritoire with all her quill pens and papers. She comfortably seated herself, took a scrap of parchment from one of the compartments and dipped the tip of the pen into the inkwell. With a slow, steady hand she practiced a decorative script for the lettering for Masquerade Ball. She practiced those two words several times before she took one of the four-by-five gilt-trimmed invitations from the stack she had previously worked. She meticulously penned the same words across the top, sprinkled some sand over the ink to dry it before she admired her work. She smiled at the invitation. Another was complete. Last week, she had worked on the contents, or vital information. All that remained was the heading. She reached for another invitation when Hannah tapped on the door.
“Mr. Roderick Godfrey is downstairs asking for ye. Will ye see him?”
Elizabeth froze in her chair. Roderick’s arrival could only mean he wanted her for another assignment. She hadn’t expected another assignment so soon. Her stomach churned. Couldn’t he have sent a message as before?
“Tell him I’ll be down shortly. Please have him wait in the parlor.”
“I’ll tell him, Bethy.”
God in heaven. How was she going to maintain her composure while answering Roderick’s ever-beckoning call in order to keep her father alive. She was about to check her appearance in the mirror and thought better of it. What did she care how she presented herself to the toad? She inwardly smiled. Maybe if she neglected her toilette and attire, Roderick would become so appalled, he’d leave her and her father alone. Wishful thinking.
A few moments later, she greeted Roderick in the parlor with a not-so-friendly salutation. “What do you want?”
“You don’t sound happy to see me.” Roderick held his hat in his hand and seated himself before she asked him to do so. He looked the masculine version to Charlotte with his fair hair, large blue eyes, and plumpness.
Still, she stood. “Don’t get comfortable. Say what you have on your mind and leave.”
“You’re to meet me at Liffey Supply on Essex Quay. Come early. Say nine or ten tomorrow night. I don’t want you tired. You’ll draw the pattern on the dies for a metal-based shilling. What materials w
ill you personally need? And, don’t accidentally forget to mention an item in hopes to delay the inevitable. You’ve never really seen me angry.”
She sighed. How she hated any part of this. “I’ll need a new shilling—a legal one to compare, and an eyepiece for magnification. Is there anything special you use?”
“Aye. I’ll bring the tools and whatever else you’ll need. How long do you think it will take you?”
“I can’t say until I start. The area I must work on is small compared to the space I usually have. The pattern will be life-size and a shilling is not so large.”
“I have all confidence in you, Elizabeth.”
Fear suddenly rose in her chest. If her best was not good enough then would Roderick do her father harm. “What if I can’t draw the coin as well as you hoped?”
“You’ll make a pattern better than I hoped for. You’ve worked with the more intricate lettering. This is no different. You’re far more skilled than Charlotte. She’s shown me your work.”
Elizabeth wasn’t thrilled by the compliment and needed this conversation to end. “If there is nothing else—leave.”
“All right.” He stood and replaced his hat on his fair-haired head. “Perhaps, you’ll be in a better mood tomorrow eve. He waved his silly wave, left the parlor, and exited outside.
She started for the stairs up to her bedchamber. “Hannah,” she called and waited at the foot of the steps. She rested one hand on the rail. “Hannah?”
“Coming, Bethy,” Hannah answered. She entered from the doorway that led to the kitchen.
“Mr. Godfrey is gone. I’m going to continue with my invitations. If anyone else calls, please send them away.”
* * * *
An entire day and a half had passed. Christian, from his carriage parked a short distance down on Henrietta Street, had watched Roderick Godfrey leave Elizabeth’s town house. Once again, he wondered what the two had planned. The eve before, he had followed Elizabeth’s every move from the time she left her town house until her carriage dropped her off in front of Roderick Godfrey’s silversmith shop. What surprised him was that she hadn’t gone inside but had traveled a short distance away to White’s Inn. Mysterious, to say the least. It was only sheer luck that he discovered her dressed as a friar. He had been seated in a position where Elizabeth could not see him, yet when she passed, he’d see her. When the friar passed, the smell of lavender assailed him. It was then it occurred to him the man was Elizabeth—either that or one odd fellow.
Fortunately, he managed to hail a noddy as quickly as she had and trailed her to the harbor where she boarded a ship and disappeared below deck. These were strange activities for a young lady. All the more, he believed her involved in some illegal affair that centered around Adam. He truly wanted to confront her, but decided to wait until after her next escapade where he hoped to obtain more concrete information.
He shifted uncomfortably in the carriage before he glanced at his pocket watch. It was half past eight. Still, no Elizabeth appeared on her doorstep. Neither had her governess, Hannah, in the entire day and a half he watched their home. This was too bloody long. He was tired from lack of sleep and annoyed at the cramped quarters of the carriage. Despite a lap rug, it was too damn cold. At least one matter was in his favor. Thus far, no one had asked why he had been parked so long. Elizabeth as well as her neighbors apparently were too involved in other matters.
He sighed. The only time he had left the carriage was to relieve himself. His driver brought him food and drink on command. Damn, he thought. Elizabeth couldn’t stay holed up in her town house forever—especially after Roderick’s visit. Surely, she’d be on the move again, and soon.
His eyelids were heavy and wanted to close so badly, but if he allowed it, he knew he’d sleep through the night right there in the carriage parked in the street, and Elizabeth would slip by him. He could have asked his driver to wake him, but nay, this was too important. Somehow he knew when she ventured outdoors again, it would be another even bigger clue into the mystery behind his brother’s disappearance. He had to stay awake for his brother’s sake.
He opened the carriage door and stepped out into the mist and cold night air. Perhaps, the effect would wake him. He thought of his mother. She had asked him to send word that all was well with Adam when he arrived in Dublin. He had yet to find a way to tell her Adam was indeed in trouble, but she shouldn’t worry. Right. Just the encouragement a mother wanted to hear. Instead, he opted to say naught, and hoped he’d find Adam soon, so he could write to relieve his mother’s fears. She’d forgive him for the delay in sending the message and all would be right with the world. If only it were so simple.
He glanced at Elizabeth’s door for the hundredth time and as if by merely doing so by itself, it opened. He scrambled back inside the carriage.
Elizabeth appeared, and this time, instead of taking a carriage with her own personal driver, she started to walk down the street.
Christian stuck his head out the window of his carriage. “Follow the lady, but a safe distance behind,” he ordered his driver. At times like this he was thankful to have such loyal servants. Not only would they not question his activities, but they would know he had good reason for his unusual behavior.
He was not surprised when Elizabeth led them to White’s Inn once more. As before, she had changed into her friar garb and proceeded in the direction of the harbor. This time she stopped at Essex Quay not far from Dublin Castle and entered a structure with a sign posted out front which read, Liffey Supply.
Once she entered the structure, he exited the carriage and ordered his driver to be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice.
Gingerly, he opened the door to the building. It creaked, and he held his breath. Unnoticed, he continued until he slipped completely inside. The passageway before him was dimly lit, with several doors lined up on either side ahead of him. In the distance, he saw stairs that led to offices or perhaps a workshop on the floor above.
He listened for a moment. When he heard nothing, he advanced up the stairs to the second level. Cautiously, he poked his head around the landing into the passageway. It was too quiet. Still, he tiptoed to the first door and the next along the way. His heartbeat quickened. He froze in place. He must go carefully and quietly seek the evidence needed against this woman.
He envisioned Elizabeth’s pretty face, sparkling blue eyes and auburn hair. He recalled the taste of her mouth. Damnation! She had mesmerized Adam, but she would not enchant him. Beauty or nay, he’d not let it happen. She had gotten Adam involved in something illicit. He felt it in his gut. By God, she’d pay.
“Must you stand over me so closely?”
Christian’s senses were on the alert. That was Elizabeth’s voice. He put his ear to the door nearest to him.
“Forgive me. I’m just so excited. You’re doing wonderfully. This will be the best pattern for a shilling we’ve ever had. You’ve such a talent,” the voice stated and giggled as if he’d told a funny joke.
That was Roderick’s voice. Christian had heard enough to know that Elizabeth was drawing the pattern to counterfeit a shilling.
“Tell me, Elizabeth. Why did you wear the silly friar garb to come here?” Roderick asked, “ ‘Tis only you and I.”
‘Tis late, Roderick, and a woman is not safe un-chaperoned on the streets, but naturally, it’s not a concern of yours.”
“Aye, you’re right there, but after seeing the beautiful work you do, I’d hate for anything to happen to my sweet forger.”
Christian silently backed away from the door. He had heard all he wanted to for now. Where Adam fit into this, he still was unsure. Elizabeth Corry, however, would have a surprise when she arrived at White’s Inn.
* * * *
The old wooden staircase of White’s Inn creaked with every step Elizabeth took. A few more steps, another few feet, and she’d be at the door to her room. God in heaven, she was exhausted.
Roderick had watched over her the entire time sh
e had drawn the pattern for his latest counterfeit coin. To her relief, he was thrilled by the exactness of her drawing. Consequently, her father would not suffer.
She reached into her robe for the key to her room.
“Friar, please, I need to talk,” came a voice from the shadows.
God in heaven. Not again. Not this time. She was too tired. She rested her forehead against the door. “I’m sorry,” she spoke into the door but addressed the voice. “Please. Can we speak in the morn. I’m too sleepy. In this condition, I would be of no help to you.”
“Afraid not, Sister Friar.”
She spun around towards the recognizable voice. “You. What are you doing here? Why are you following me?” she angrily said to Christian.
“It’s you who have the answering to do.” His gaze wandered from her face to where her bosom and hips would be beneath the friar’s robe.
“I think not,” she proceeded to unlock her door when he grabbed the key from her.
“You’re coming with me.”
“I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead. What do you think the innkeeper or anyone else would do when they saw a woman dressed as a friar? Not a damn thing. Especially if I were to tell them you escaped from the asylum, and I have orders to bring you back.”
She considered his words and knew she’d have no friend in the innkeeper or anyone else. If she hoped to return to this inn with her activities unknown, she’d have to go with no fuss or attention drawn to her.
“Can I at least retrieve my portmanteau?”
Christian nodded. Together they entered her room. She gathered the item, and they left the inn.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked once they were seated opposite each other in Christian’s carriage.
“To my town house.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where I want you. You’re going to tell me the truth and give me some answers. That’s where you’ll stay until you do.”
Sea of Fire Page 6
