by C. K. Brooke
“What’s this?” Em examined the dark fabric Alexander had given her.
“You’re to wear it,” the boy explained. “Commander’s orders.”
She spread out the cape and draped it over her shoulders. Alexander went behind her and lifted the hood. It was loose over her head, but successfully shrouded her.
“One last thing, Alex,” said a voice, and Em looked up from beneath her hood. Commander Redding handed the boy the butt of his pistol. “Ensure she keeps this on her person, and well-hidden.”
Alexander passed the pistol to Emeline, who took it. Commander Redding stood with Misters Jones, Clancy, McNichol, and Bucky, all of whom appeared ready for a fight or worse.
“Are you sure I can’t go?” she asked them. She still didn’t fancy the idea of remaining downstairs in the pub while the men might be facing danger one story above.
“You need to stay here, where you’re safe,” the commander told her. “I have plenty to worry after upstairs. I don’t need to be worrying after you too.”
Em nodded, her fingers closing around the smooth gun as she slipped it under the cloak.
“Alex will look after you. And you’ve got that,” Commander Redding cocked his head to the now-hidden pistol, “for good measure.”
“Aye, sir.” She swallowed, unable to still the uneasiness in her heart. In spite of everything, she was afraid for him. It felt like the raid of La Belladonna all over again. Except this time, they couldn’t sail away.
Without another word, the commander and his group departed her. Captain Crawley and the rest of the landing party were stationed at strategic locations inside the pub and outside of the inn, in case there was trouble. Really, it was kind of them to help the commander. Em wondered what they would think if they knew the truth, that she wasn’t actually his wife, and that the woman they were helping to rescue would probably be, soon.
“Here, Mrs. Redding.” The cabin boy eyed her. “Why don’t you drink this? It might soothe the nerves.” He pushed a small cup her way.
Em picked it up and downed a sip. She immediately covered her mouth, trying not to gag. “Eurgh, Alexander,” she coughed. “It feels like my throat is on fire!”
He took the cup from her and sniffed it, shrugged, and drew a sip. His eyes bulged a little. He dropped it back onto the table and shoved it aside. “I guess there ain’t nothing to do, then, but wait.”
Em nodded past the burn in her throat. It was receding a little.
“D’you know how to shoot that pistol?” he asked her.
Involuntarily, she reached for the gun concealed in her cloak. “No,” she confessed.
The boy laughed. “Then what good’ll it do you?” His chair scraped as he rose.
“What are you doing?”
“Teaching you how to shoot.” He held out a hand.
“Alex, dear…I don’t think that’s a very good—”
“Mrs. Redding,” his youthful face was suddenly stern, “do you want to know how to defend yourself or not?”
Reluctantly, she handed over the weapon. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she warned him.
“Of course, I know.” He examined the pistol in his eager hands. “You’re the one who’s got to learn.”
***
Room IX
Miers recalled the note, as if anything could make him forget. The numerals on the heavy wooden door stared back at him, faded and gray. With one hand, he secured the sack over his shoulder, and the other, he lifted. He issued three pert knocks on the door, and lowered his fist.
Voices murmured on the other side of the door. Miers’s temples throbbed, and his palms sweat as he waited, listening to sound of latches disconnecting.
The door opened, but not all the way. Miers took in the man with the orange ponytail who surveyed him warily. He looked young, average build, with a scruffy, unshaven face and unbuttoned blouse that looked as though it had seen better days. A royal purple scarf, also battered-looking, was tied around his neck.
Miers could feel himself frowning. “Percival Wyatt?” he asked.
“Aye,” said the bloke, beady eyes suspiciously scanning him and each of the men who flanked him.
Wordlessly, Miers held up the sack.
Percival Wyatt made to grab it, but Miers passed it back to the quartermaster.
Mr. Wyatt’s hand reached for something at his belt. At once, each of the pirates gripped the hilts of their weapons. Wyatt changed his mind, holding up his empty hands to the crew. A toothy leer spread across his stubbly lips. “We don’t need any trouble now, boys, no trouble.”
“Is she here?” demanded Miers.
Wyatt seemed to deliberate, then opened the door wider.
With caution, Miers stepped into the room. Crawley’s men followed. At once, he noticed something seemed incongruous. The suite was plain but comfortable. A window was cracked open, letting in a squeal of wind that toyed with sheer white curtains. He noticed a pair of ladies’ gloves lying on a table, a skirt draped over the arm of a sitting chair. Someone was humming pleasantly, and the smell of lily perfume permeated the space.
“Liza,” growled Percival Wyatt, banging a fist on the wall beside the bedchamber door. A half-smoked cigar lingered in the ashtray, and the fellow picked it up, cramming it between his teeth.
“Who is it, darling?” called a feminine voice.
“He’s here.” Wyatt glanced at Miers behind a tuft of cigar smoke. “Fin’ly.”
The bedchamber door bowed open, and out stepped a woman who looked very much…free. Miers’s jaw slackened.
It was…Eliza? But not as she’d ever looked before. Her mousy hair was synthetically curled, and her gown was too tight—and too low-cut. Her lips were painted a frightful wine red, and her cheeks were caked with so much rouge and powder, if Miers didn’t know her face so well, he might have mistaken her for a lady of the night.
“Eliza?” he breathed incredulously.
Her eyes widened. “Miers?” At once, she seemed to grow conscious of herself. She folded her arms over her chest, biting her lip as though suddenly embarrassed. Her expression, however, was one of confusion. “W-what are you doing here?” She took a step back at the sight of the ruffians behind him. “Who are these men?”
He gaped at her. “We’ve come to rescue you.”
“Rescue?” she laughed, but the sound came out shrill and forced.
He could feel every pair of eyes in the room upon him. And he didn’t care. “I sent your captors the first sum, and a ticket for your passage home by ship.” He took a step closer, his neck growing hotter by the second. “When you never returned, and I received the second note, I decided to come and get you myself. I had to steal to afford your ransom. Now, you tell me just what in hell is going on here.”
The young woman moved her painted lips soundlessly, reminding him of a fish. She swiveled around to the man with the orange ponytail. “Percy! What’s he talking about? What ransom, what ticket?”
“Eliza,” barked Miers, and her head whipped back around to face him. “Who the deuce is this man?”
She looked helplessly from Miers to Mr. Wyatt before exhaling, her small shoulders slumping. “Well, Mr. Wyatt here’s my beau, see, and he’s fallen on some hard times, and we badly wanted for some money to begin our new life together, and I thought you wouldn’t mind contributing—”
“I gave you everything I had!” Miers was furious, and for once, he wasn’t going to hide it. “Everything. Do you realize what I had to do to get here? I put my life,” he pounded his fist to his chest, “my title, my freedom, and the safety of others on the line, just to—!”
“Wait a second, now.” Eliza’s lip quivered as she turned to Mr. Wyatt again, wide-eyed. “You told him I was your hostage?”
Percival Wyatt’s beady eyes shifted to the door. But Crawley’s pirates barred the way, brawny arms folded.
“Why did you need my money, anyway, Eliza?” Miers demanded. “Didn’t Mr. Newbury leave you plenty when he
died?”
Eliza appeared, if possible, even more sheepish. “Well, that’s the thing, though, isn’t it?” She looked down at her fumbling fingers. “My husband’s not exactly dead. I thought maybe you’d found that out.”
Miers stared at her, gobsmacked. “You lied about that too? I sent you my inheritance because of his death!”
The young woman was crying now, tears streaming down her powdered cheeks. “Percy spent all of that too!”
Miers brought a hand to his brow, kneading it. “Oh, Eliza, what have you gotten yourself into?”
“I should ask the same of you,” she sniffled, indicating the pirates at the door.
He shook his head at her. His disappointment had never been greater—in anyone. “I don’t know you anymore. I cannot believe you would betray me like this.”
Though it killed a part of him to see her shoulders trembling as she wept into her hands, he couldn’t bear to look at her any longer. He spoke to Crawley’s men. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter 15
Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Em and Alexander scrambled to their feet, ready for anything.
But it was only the commander and his companions. Jones held the sack of loot. It looked untouched. Em winched her brow. Had they not found the captors? Was Mrs. Newbury not there?
She and the cabin boy hurried to join them, along with the Rose’s other crewmen who were scattered about the pub. They filed their way out to the humid evening. Captain Crawley met them at the side of the building where they assembled, concealed in twilit shadow.
“It was a con.”
Em was startled by the rigidity of the voice that spoke. She could scarcely believe it belonged to…
“All of it,” Commander Redding continued, informing the captain. She looked up at him, noting how red his face looked, how furious his eyes.
“What do you mean?” she asked him.
Before he could answer, a voice cried, “Miers! Miers, wait!”
A woman barreled out of the inn and into their midst. Em’s blood turned to ice as she threw herself into the commander’s arms, wrapping her arms around him. “You came all the way out here for my sake,” she squeaked, sounding close to tears, and kissed his cheek.
Em’s gut sank. She couldn’t stand to watch. And yet, she couldn’t look away.
“I’d do anything for you, Eliza, and you know it,” the commander attested, sounding heated, “but you’ve broken my heart and my trust. Why, look at you!”
Em was rather taken aback by the volume of rouge she wore, and just how much of her bust spilled out of her dress. She didn’t miss Ginty and the quartermaster trading glances.
“Be not angry with me, I beg you,” pleaded the woman, whom Em could only surmise was Mrs. Newbury, still not letting go of him. Em thought if she didn’t release the commander from her tawdry embrace soon, she might see red. “I didn’t know Percy would do something so dastardly. I hope you’ll find it in you to forgive me. Keep me in your heart and prayers, just how you’re always in mine.”
To his credit, Commander Redding did not return her embrace, only wore a grim expression.
She finally released him, but didn’t go away. Instead, she reached tentatively for the burlap sack Jones carried. “I suppose I can take this now.” She tried to grin.
The commander’s frown deepened. “What do you mean? You are in no danger. Clearly, you have no need of it. Jones,” he nodded to the quartermaster, “return it aboard.”
“Not so fast,” snarled a new voice. Em and the others turned to discover a scruffy-looking man with greasy orange hair pulled back in a ponytail and a purple scarf around his neck. “We was bankin’ on your funds, Commander. You can’t just leave us emptyhanded.”
Captain Crawley took a single, menacing step forward.
Commander Redding retorted coolly, “I am the one who is emptyhanded.”
But the ponytailed man withdrew a knife from his belt. Em’s eyes widened.
At once, Mrs. Newbury leapt on the orange-haired man, trying to placate him. “Percy, no,” she begged. “Put it away. Come, now, don’t hurt him…you know how much he means to me…”
Each member of Crawley’s crew unsheathed their own weapons, eyes intent on Percy.
Em immediately withdrew the pistol and lowered her hood. “Drop the knife,” she growled.
Mrs. Newbury looked up at her, her heavily made-up face shifting from fear to surprise. “Miers?” She issued a girlish, shaky laugh. “Who is this?”
Em was stunned when Commander Redding answered firmly, “My wife.”
Mrs. Newbury’s artificial smile dropped. Em felt sick at the apparent hurt in the woman’s eyes. “Wife?” She pouted. “You got married without telling me? Without even inviting me to the wedding?”
“There was no wedding,” he said flatly. “We eloped.”
“Well, you could’ve written and told me!”
“Forgive me,” said the commander, although he sounded far from sorry. “Perhaps I never wrote because I believed you were kidnapped and held hostage by a greedy maniac. Now I can see that greedy maniac is, in fact, your lover.”
Mrs. Newbury blushed on top of her rouge. Her partner, probably realizing he was no match for Crawley’s crew, finally slipped the knife back into his belt. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he regarded them.
Em lowered the gun, flabbergasted.
“Show’s over,” rumbled Crawley, rounding up his party. “Move it, fellas.”
When Em couldn’t lift her feet for shock, young Alexander lifted her hand and guided her to follow them. They were last in the procession, with the commander just ahead of them.
Em drew one last glimpse over her shoulder to ensure they hadn’t forgotten anyone, when her heart leapt into her throat. The silver blade gleamed once more in Percy’s hand.
“Percy, no!” screamed Mrs. Newbury.
Em didn’t think. The pistol was still in her grip, and she fired it. Percy yowled, blood seeping through his sleeve.
Alas, she’d been too late. The dagger was already sailing through the air. “Mr. Redding!” she shrieked, but he didn’t move in time. The blade lodged into the back of his thigh. With a gasp, the man dropped down on the road.
Em could hardly see past the flurry of shouting faces and flashing swords that chased after Percy, who was running off, despite the bullet in his arm. She shoved past them in the opposite direction. Only one destination was imminent.
“Mr. Redding!” She collapsed at his side as he closed his fingers over the hilt of the dagger. With a howl of pain, he wrenched it out. His face had gone pallid and his brow glistened with perspiration.
“Oh, my goodness,” Em breathed, her heartbeat escalating. Beside her, Alexander lifted the very shirt from his back and handed it to the commander.
“Here you go, sir. Wrap it up, you can, to stop the bleeding.”
Commander Redding ground his teeth and nodded. His breaths came in heavy spurts. He wrapped the boy’s shirt around his upper leg, but hissed in pain. “Em—Emeline,” he gasped. “Will you…tie—?”
She took the sleeves and pulled them in a knot.
“Tighter.”
She pulled harder and made a knot. She was sweating too, now; not even the fierce Barbados wind could cool her blood. “Somebody, help!” she screeched into the street at large, as curious bystanders watched. “Anyone! He’s been stabbed, he cannot walk!”
The sound of horse hooves clacked their way as a bald, black-skinned wagoner slowed beside them. “I take to doctor?” he asked down at them, his accent thick.
“No doctor,” panted the commander. “Just—get us to port.”
“Mr. Redding,” Em implored him. “I really do think you need a doct—”
“I want to get the hell out of Barbados.”
Em exhaled. “Very well.” She looked up at the wagoner. “To port, please!”
The wagoner stepped down. Together, he and Alexander hoisted Commander Re
dding from the road. The man stumbled, emitting another hiss of pain. Leaning on his good leg and on the others for support, he limped to the wagon. Em followed suit, praying he wouldn’t lose too much blood.
The commander lay across the bench on his side. His face was looking whiter by the second. Desperate, Em turned to the cabin boy as the wagoner resumed his seat. “Alex, would you find the others and inform them that the commander’s been hurt? Send help to the Rose at once.”
The boy saluted her. “Aye, aye, ma’am!” With the speed only a twelve-year-old boy could match, Alexander soared up the road, parting the onlooking crowd as he ran.
Em sat across from the commander, wringing her wrists as the wagon wheels began to turn. “Deep breaths, Commander,” she tried to soothe him, noticing how he winced at the bumpiness of the ride. “The port isn’t far…”
“Miers, wait! Wait!”
The wagon slowed again. Outrage filled Em’s breast to see Eliza Newbury racing after them. Without awaiting permission, she mounted the step and hoisted herself into the wagon.
“Excuse me,” Em demanded, glowering up at her. “But who do you think you are? Haven’t you done enough damage?”
“I love him as much as you do!” Mrs. Newbury tossed herself down beside Em, her dress sprawling about her, and slouched in the bench.
Em wanted to order the wagoner to remove her, but his horses had already begun to trot again. It felt as though steam were piping through her nostrils. “How can you say you love him when you’ve robbed and betrayed him and broken his heart?”
“Emeline,” said the commander across from her. “There’s something you should know.”
“What, that you are in love with this woman?” Em snapped. “I think I figured that out for myself, thanks!”
Mrs. Newbury doubled back as though she’d misheard.
“Eliza,” the commander addressed the other woman. “I never told her. If word got ’round pertaining to my deeds and the company I kept along this voyage, I didn’t want my reputation to jeopardize yours.” He issued something between a snort of humorless laughter and a huff of pain. “But now, I can see you’ve already damaged yours quite capably on your own.”
