Secrets in the Mist Page 21

  He continued to study my face, and then, as if satisfied with what he’d seen, walked away without another glance.

  I sat rigidly as the boat veered toward the quay, making ready to dock so that I could disembark. Snatches of an argument at the stern of the boat periodically reached my ears, but I pretended I could not hear them.

  “She’s s’posed to be calm. Do ye want the preventives to catch ’er?”

  “She needed to be warned.”

  “Mayhap. But not given the shakes.”

  I inhaled deeply and forced my shoulders and jaw to relax, just as Jack had taught me. If he could tell how upset I was merely from looking at my back, my expression must be terrified. I heard the stomp of boots approaching and prayed it was Jack. I wasn’t sure I could face Harry again so soon.

  Jack perched next to me, using the prevarication that we were husband and wife to sit close. He didn’t speak at first, joining me in my contemplation of the ships lining the river’s quay, their white sails rippling in the sea breeze. I began to wonder if he was simply offering me a bit of silent support when he finally glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “You remember your training?” he murmured in a low voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” His foot tapped against the deck. “He gave you the ship’s name?”

  “The Reliance.”

  “And you recall what to do should you be detained?”

  I pressed my fingers against my thumbs, channeling my distress into my hands—another technique he had taught me. I breathed evenly in and out. “Yes.”

  He nodded in approval before abruptly declaring, “Forget them.”

  This time I couldn’t completely contain my shock. I jerked my head around to stare at his profile.

  His eyes slid sideways to meet mine briefly before returning to the shore we inched ever closer to. “Tell them everything.”

  “But…my father…”

  “You understand Harry’s instructions?”

  “I…yes,” I spluttered. “But—”

  “And the message you are to deliver?”

  I blinked up at him. “Of course.”

  “Which is?” His eyebrows raised.

  I inhaled in frustration. “Explain what you mean—”

  “Do you recall it?”

  I scowled at him. “I’m not daft. It’s Greybar twenty-three.” Surely Harry hadn’t meant I couldn’t repeat it to our own crew.

  He nodded. “Good.”

  “But you haven’t—”

  “Best of luck, Ella,” he murmured, rising to his feet.

  But I wasn’t about to let him leave. “Stop!” I hissed as I grabbed his arm. “Explain yourself. What did you mean?”

  His eyes flicked toward the other members of the crew, as if to remind me of their presence. I released his arm. “Only that there comes a time when enough is enough.” His gaze hardened. “You wouldn’t survive transportation to New South Wales. Not among the population you’re likely to be thrown in with.”

  This time I didn’t stop him when he walked away, too stunned by his comment. I knew he was right. If I was caught I would be facing transportation to a penal colony on the opposite side of the globe, and no one’s interference would halt it. Except perhaps my grandfather’s, but the likelihood of the earl exerting himself in such a manner on my behalf was slim.

  Jack and the other smugglers had initially instructed me to keep my mouth shut if the revenue men nabbed me. They’d promised if I held my tongue they wouldn’t demand my father repay the loan I’d been given to cover his fine. But if I did talk, what then? Would they punish him for my betrayal? Would they hurt Mrs. Brittle? Either outcome seemed horrifying.

  Then my only option was simply not to be caught. Squaring my shoulders, I gathered up my reticule and ordered my nerves to settle. I could not fail. I would not.

  The boat glided up to the quay, knocking gently against the wood. While Rory stepped up to tie us off, I reached up to adjust my new bonnet before standing to shake out my skirts and brush off my pelisse. I gathered some confidence in knowing that if nothing else, at least I looked my best.

  Jack appeared at my elbow, like the dutiful husband he played. “We’ll return for you here in three hours’ time,” he leaned down to murmur.

  I nodded coolly, taking his hand as he helped me step up onto the quay. Rory was there to offer me another hand should I falter, but my legs proved long enough for the task. Once my feet were solidly on the wooden planks, I bustled forward without a backward glance. I couldn’t afford to lose my newly found composure, and I wasn’t certain it could withstand the sight of the wherry boat pulling away, with Jack pretending not to watch me from the bow.

  Chapter 22

  T

  he quay bustled with activity. Wherry men loaded and unloaded goods from boats lining the docks while revenue men, their metal collar badges flashing in the sunlight, looked on. One official stood with his head bent over a stack of papers that appeared as if it had seen better days, while a wherry man tapped his foot impatiently beside him. Another pair leaned over a pile of barrels, inspecting them and murmuring together. Whatever they were saying seemed to make the man loading the casks nervous.

  I did my best to ignore them all, choosing instead to focus my attention on the women who periodically strolled past, some of whom were dressed in imitations of the latest fashions from London. It seemed like the sort of thing a newly prosperous merchant’s wife would do, comparing her clothing to theirs. In truth, it wasn’t difficult, for I already found myself a little envious of their Polish walking pelisses and ruffed collars, styles I’d only seen in Kate’s fashion plates.

  I wandered after a pair of ladies in chestnut-brown and spring-green spencers with floating muslin skirts as they led me deeper into the market that edged the riverfront, and then out into the streets lined with more exclusive shops beyond. However, rather than drift inside to browse the pale blossom silk and buttery tan kid gloves displayed in one store’s window as they did, I hurried on. Though I did pause outside a milliner’s shop on the corner, pretending to be absorbed in the selection of new bonnets as I studied the reflection in the glass to see if anyone had followed me. Yet another trick Jack had taught me in the past week. When I felt certain I was not being trailed, I turned my steps toward the sea.

  As I strolled east farther away from the river, the shops gradually gave way to homes. Some of them were quite large and beautiful, and those closest to the shore were gifted with magnificent views of the North Sea. Though I suspected this unrestricted view wasn’t always welcome when the fearsome winds of a winter gale began to howl. But today I welcomed the ocean breeze as it blew cool against my cheeks heated from the exertion of my walk. I’d begun to regret the necessity of wearing my pelisse, but near the water I didn’t feel so warm.

  I turned south, following the road that separated the town from the beach, and from a distance I could see the short pier jutting out into the sea. It was lined with small rowboats and shallow-bottomed skiffs, bobbing merrily in the high tide. Much further out to sea the tall masts of larger ships dotted the endless horizon, their hulls too deep to risk entering the Yarmouth Roads or venturing closer to shore. My nerves began to flutter in my stomach again, so I gulped deep breaths of the salty sea air and lengthened my stride. The sooner this was completed, the better. Dawdling would not make it easier.

  The fine homes and buildings lining the coast steadily deteriorated the further south I walked. The paint became more worn, the wood more weathered, and the lovingly tended gardens bordering front walks all but disappeared. The scent of fish also became stronger, overwhelming everything else, and I realized the squat buildings that dominated the area surrounding the pier must house fishmongers. A group of rough-looking men clustered in front of one such building eyed me. I clutched my reticule tighter and crossed the road toward the boats.

  The pier was not as well populated as the quay on the river, but there were at least
a dozen men about—mending nets or working on their boats or simply lazing in the sun. I scanned the seamen assembled before me and decided to approach an older man perched on a post, a pipe clenched between his teeth. His face was tan and weathered like leather and his beard grizzled, but he had a twinkle in his eye.

  “Excuse me. Is that your boat?” I asked, nodding to the weathered but tidy skiff behind him.

  He studied my face before replying. “Aye. An’ who might be askin’?”

  I ignored his question in favor of my own. “I wish to be rowed out to the Reliance. Can you assist me?”

  His bushy eyebrows lowered in a leer. “Ye want to visit the Reliance, do ye? Now why would that be?” The tone of his voice left no doubt as to what insulting conclusion he’d come to.

  I straightened in indignation. “The captain is my brother. Not that that is any of your concern.” I flicked my gaze over him contemptuously. “But perhaps you’re not capable of the task.” I pivoted to go, but his rusty voice stopped me.

  “Aye, aye. Don’t work yerself into a huff.” He rose to his feet, and I could have sworn I heard his bones creak. “I’ll take ye out to the Reliance.” His eyes sharpened. “For a quid.”

  I arched a single eyebrow. “I’ll pay you a half-guinea to row me there and back, and not a pence more,” I replied, knowing that was still more than the task deserved, but perhaps the little bit extra would encourage his discretion.

  He tilted his head as if to consider my offer, and I raised my other eyebrow, letting him know I wasn’t fooled. If he chose to turn this down, he was daft.

  He flashed me a cheeky grin, revealing a mouth only half full of teeth. “’Twill be me pleasure.” Then he swiveled toward the far end of the pier. “Crisp,” he hollered.

  I turned to see a young man with shaggy red hair, almost as dark as mine, step away from a trio of men and move towards us.

  “Me boy,” the old sailor explained.

  I nodded, wondering if he meant his son or his grandson.

  “Crisp, we’ve got a passenger.”

  The young man glanced at me with a level of disinterest only the very young are capable of. I dipped my head and held my tongue. If the old man and Crisp were both going to row me at the same cost, then so be it. The trip would be quicker.

  In a matter of minutes, we set off across the sea. Father, or grandfather, and son were surprisingly even matched, and we made better time than I’d expected. Perhaps I’d overestimated the old sailor’s age. It was difficult to tell with his wind-beaten skin and deep wrinkles from squinting into the sun.

  All too soon the ships loomed before us, their large hulls towering above the waves. Even the Reliance’s, which was by no means the largest ship anchored off Yarmouth. In fact, those to its left and right seemed to dwarf it.

  The old sailor, who I’d learned went by the name Mick, called up to the deck. When one of the crew leaned over the side, he raised his voice again, lifting his hand to cup his mouth so that the wind wouldn’t snatch his words away. “Mrs. Warnes to see yer cap’n.”

  The man dipped out of sight and I twisted my hands in my lap, praying the captain recognized the false name. Jack had promised the captain was aware of the plan, but missives went awry, people grew skittish, and I could easily find myself denied the chance to board. Or cornered when I did.

  I could feel Mick’s eyes on me, but I ignored him, doing my best to look calm and unruffled as I gazed across the water toward shore. It seemed so far away. Crisp frowned at the handle of his oar, rubbing his thumb back and forth across what I guessed was a rough strip in the wood.

  Something swung out from the ship above and thumped against the side of the hull, startling me. It was a rope, and as it lowered toward us I could see that the end was fashioned into a loop. I glanced up at the man leaning over the side of the boat, guiding it toward me. My heart hammered against my ribs as I realized I would have to trust that man and his crew to pull me safely up to the deck. From where I was sitting, that distance seemed a long way. If their grip slipped and I plummeted into the ocean, I could be seriously injured or drown tangled in my skirts.

  I tried to push those thoughts from my head as I rose shakily to my feet and reached up to take hold of the rope.

  “Crisp, help the lady,” Mick ordered.

  The young man lurched to his feet, setting the small skiff rocking, and I was forced to latch on to his upper arms or tip over the side. Crisp dropped the rope’s loop smoothly over my head and guided it past my shoulders. His eyes lifted to meet mine for the first time, and I was intrigued by how blue they were. He didn’t speak, simply stared back at me, and I realized he was waiting for me to release him and pull my arms through the loop.

  I flushed in embarrassment and dropped my gaze, helping him finish the task. Once the rope was resting against the back of my legs, he looked up at the man on the Reliance. That seemed to be signal enough, for the rope pulled taut, lifting me into the air.

  Crisp’s eyes met mine again as I rose out of the boat, and I began to wonder if I’d misjudged his age. The intelligence shining back at me seemed far too mature for a sixteen-year-old, as did the faint lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. Perhaps he was closer to my age than I’d assumed.

  The rope swayed, demanding all of my concentration as I gripped it between my hands and struggled to keep my seat. I tried to gauge how far I had yet to rise, but I could no longer see the man above me. The world began to spin along with the rope, and I forced myself to take slow, even breaths. If I passed out now there would be no one to catch me when I fell. I had to at least make it to the top before I could succumb to the vapors.

  When finally I caught sight of the man peering over the railing at me, I was relieved to see he was almost near enough to reach his hand out to clasp mine. Two more heaves of the rope and a pair of arms pulled me over the side.

  I inhaled sharply as my feet touched the boards of the deck. “Thank you,” I gasped to the men standing around me, offering them a tremulous smile.

  “Don’t thank them yet,” a voice drawled to my left.

  I looked up to see a man crossing toward me, his hands clasped behind his back. This, I surmised, was the captain. Though he didn’t particularly look like one. In fact, he didn’t particularly look like anything.

  He was handsome, I supposed, the way a vicar or a shopkeeper was pleasing to look at, but he certainly wouldn’t attract many admirers. His coloring was neutral browns, his clothing unremarkable. Even his voice was of a middling timbre. The only thing remarkable about him was the impact he seemed to have on his crew, who all stood at the ready, if not exactly at attention. This was a trade ship after all, not a cruiser for the Royal Navy. And yet I suspected that if he’d wanted to pass unnoticed, he could have—a useful skill for a smuggler to possess. I was instantly wary, though I did my best not to let him know that.

  His eyes narrowed in challenge, scrutinizing my features. “Ye’re Mrs. Warnes, are ye?”

  “Yes. Apparently I’m your long-lost sister.”

  This appeared to have been the right tack to take, for the corners of his mouth quirked upward and several of his men chuckled, making me suspect they were already aware of the ruse. “I see. Well, ’tis a shame. For I’m told it isn’t proper to ogle yer own sister.”

  I arched an eyebrow in scolding. “It isn’t proper to ogle any woman.”

  This seemed to amuse him. “And yet all us gents do it.” He sidled a step closer. “And I s’pose ye found our brother well.”

  I knew where this comment was leading even without his raising his voice slightly at the end. “Yes. He sends his regards. And his compliments.”

  “Aye, then.” He offered me his arm. “Let’s discuss that over a bottle of Holland.”

  I rested my arm lightly on his and allowed him to guide me across the deck. I could only pray he would behave like a gentleman once we were alone, for I knew from glancing around at his crew that none of them would intervene should he n
ot.

  Captain Haywood’s cabin was down a short flight of stairs at the stern of the ship, facing out to sea. I’d been expecting a dim and close space, and it was true the room was far from bright and airy, but it appeared quite comfortable, even cozy, save the dank smell. He led me to a table near the corner and then sat across from me.

  “Gin?” he asked, reaching for a bottle at the center of the table.

  “No, thank you,” I replied, worried my hands might tremble if I tried to hold a cup. In truth, a drink would have been welcome, but not here or now. And not gin.

  He shrugged and poured himself some of the liquid before leaning back in his chair and propping one booted heel on the table. He drained the cup in one smooth swallow before setting it back on the table with a thud. “Now, down to business.” His eyes scoured my face, for weaknesses no doubt. “What do ye have for me?”

  I slowly extracted the larger coin bag from my reticule and passed it to him. “This.”

  He hefted the bag in his hands, as if able to tell how much money was inside just by feel.

  “Along with a message.”

  His pupils widened in alertness and I knew I had his full attention.

  “Greybar twenty-three,” I told him as if I knew exactly what that meant.

  His lips curled in a roguish grin, and I wasn’t sure if this was because he was pleased or because he found my feigned understanding humorous. Either way, I didn’t like it. His smugness irritated me and I was ready to be gone.

  I lifted my chin. “And what do you have for me?”

  His smile slipped a fraction into something darker. “A dangerous question, lass.”

  My heart surged into my throat at the implication of his words. I tensed, wondering if the heft of the coins remaining in my reticule would be enough to do him any harm should I need to defend myself.

  “But…” his head tilted to the side “…seeing as ye’re me sister, and Saucy Jack’s girl, I’ll just show ye the silks.”