Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution (36 page)

"A
second
masquerade?"
 
Sophie heard the way
her tone bit the air.
 
"That's
horrendous.
 
I cannot believe Father
would torture us in such a way.
 
If that
was him on the
Annabelle
, I — I don't know about you, but I feel
betrayed.
 
All the heartache we've
suffered these weeks, thinking he's dead."

"I cannot
reason it, either.
 
Perhaps El Serpiente
fouled his plans to slip word to us, and it became a masquerade he never
intended to continue."

"
Oui
,
but how could the team of St. James and Carey have accomplished a second
masquerade with such expertise that they did not leave us a single clue?"

"Suppose
we ignored clues."

Mathias
stirred.
 
"Indeed.
 
Sunday in the copse on MacVie's property, I
noticed a smell from the charred body.
 
It wasn't the odor of burned flesh."

"Decomposition,
from Mr. Carey's body!"
 
Sophie
felt the energy of discovery and hope ripple through her companions.
 
"I smelled it, too, but I was so
distraught that I pushed the thought of it aside.
 
What if Father intended for us to ignore the clues?"

Mathias rose on
one elbow.
 
"David, remember I told
you I'd noticed that the corpse's arms hung straight, not twisted backwards, as
they would have for a living victim who'd been tied to the stake."

A raspy chuckle
escaped Jacques.
 
"Even after all
my years working for Montcalm, I must admit that I, too, missed a clue.
 
Late Sunday afternoon, I walked the
graveyard and noticed that the dirt on
Monsieur
Carey's grave looked
freshly turned."

Surprise
widened Sophie's eyes.
 
"Assayceeta
Corackall visited me Sunday afternoon to bring condolences.
 
He told me the Creek, hearing of Father's
murder, had witnessed the passage of his spirit through the forest early Sunday
morning."

"His
spirit?"
 
David laughed.
 
"Ye gods, if we're right about this, if
that really was the old man aboard the
Annabelle
, he left so many clues
that we're bloody idiots for not having figured it out.
 
But the committee's ambush suggests that the
old man was so desperate to succeed that he'd sacrifice his own flesh and
blood.
 
I don't believe it.
 
I cannot escape the feeling that Donald
Fairbourne just wanted to scare me back to Alton.
 
And the old man and I didn't always agree, but I know he wouldn't
have wanted me murdered."

"I don't
think Father had anything to do with the ambush."

The snarl in
David's voice was audible.
 
"MacVie?"

"He was
second-in-command for the Committee of Safety and probably browbeat the rest of
them into the ambush."
 
She
paused.
 
"And MacVie told me he
wanted to kill me for personal reasons."

"Why, that
stinking son of —"

"David,
let it go."
 
Mathias lay back
sounding exhausted.
 
"Consider
this.
 
If we're correct about this wild
scheme, and Will was on the
Annabelle
, he planned the ruse with Elijah
Carey's corpse to purchase time and cover so he and his two 'friends of John
Adams' could slip from town and head to their meeting with Don Alejandro in St.
Augustine.
 
And that means we must
assume we aren't the only ones who've figured this out.
 
All this time, the redcoats may have been
chasing Will, not us or El Serpiente."

Sophie said
quickly, "No one else, Arriaga included, needs to know that Father may not
have been murdered."

"Agreed."
 
David ejected a hard sigh.
 
"But if Hunt and Fairfax survived the
storm, they may as well head back north.
 
Unless a miracle occurred hours ago, most of the bribe for the Gálvez
has taken up residence at the bottom of the ocean."

"
We
survived.
 
If the redcoats did also,
they've too much at stake to merely return to the colonies."
 
The serene certainty in Mathias's voice surprised
Sophie.

"He's
right, David.
 
Our part isn't
finished.
 
We've these emeralds to
discharge, so we go on to Havana.
 
And
if we encounter those assassins again, let us not forget that Jonah was almost
certainly murdered by one of them."

"Emeralds."
 
Tension tugged on David's voice.
 
"The gods only know where the storm
blew the
Annabelle
, how much damage she sustained, and how long it will
take her to reach Havana.
 
What
impression will we make in Havana without the other two-thirds of the
emeralds?
 
I told you this reeks of
crooked piquet.
 
If we seek out Don
Antonio Hernandez and give him our paltry portion, he might suspect us of
robbing and murdering his nephew — maybe even of sinking the
Annabelle
."

Sophie shifted
about, encouraged because the ship didn't feel quite so out of control anymore,
but flustered by David's logic.
 
"Fortunately we don't have to plan that far ahead this moment.
 
Unless I'm mistaken, we'll be spending the
next few days recuperating from the storm."

"Repairing
the structural damage," said Mathias.
 
"Pumping out the seawater.
 
Straightening out the hold."

She returned
the squeeze to Mathias's hand and took heart.
 
"I wonder how far off course we've been blown."

Jacques
chuckled again.
 
"Perhaps to the
Bahamas, eh?
 
I have never been
there.
 
I should like to see the
islands."

She attempted a
laugh but curtailed it when her stomach knotted.
 
"I've heard that buccaneers prowl the Bahamas."

"Ehhh.
 
Blackbeard is long dead."

"But there
are still plenty of Continental, British, and Spanish warships about."

They heard
voices on deck, the hatch thrown open, and footsteps clomping down the
companionway.
 
The door to the cabin
whammed open, and the four squinted into lantern light.
 
Capitão
Arriaga's slender frame
filled up the doorway with vitality and competence.
 
Rainwater and seawater dripped off and puddled beneath him, and
by some trick of lighting, for a second or two, Sophie swore he'd traded his
hair for seaweed and his two legs for a merman's tail.
 
"
Bom dia
, my passengers!
 
You are each alive and in one piece,
sim
?"

"Alive,
oui
.
 
In one piece,
non
.
 
My stomach resides in that chamber pot over
there."

Arriaga laughed
at the Frenchman.
 
"In good
spirits, no less!
 
I am honored.
 
You will be pleased to know we have passed
through the worst of the tropical storm.
 
José is cleaning up the galley even now so our empty bellies will soon
have some relief."

David pushed up
to a sitting position.
 
"Where are
we?"

"We must
have clear skies to know that."

"We heard
a mast break.
 
Which one was it?"

"The main
topmast.
 
And we have leaks to
repair.
 
If we are lucky, we will find
safe anchorage for a few days."

Jacques prodded
David.
 
"What did I tell you,
eh?
 
The Bahamas.
 
Oui
, I would like to see the
Bahamas."

"And well
you may,
Monsieur
le Coeuvre."

***

Blown east by
the tropical storm, the
Gloria Maria
limped south Friday toward the
Bahamian archipelago on sails of the bowsprit and foremast but only the
mainsail and main staysail on the mainmast.
 
Just before noon, they came upon bobbing wreckage of a ship that had
been caught in the heart of the storm — broken masts, barrels, a corpse tangled
in timber and canvas.
 
Hammering and
sawing aboard the brig stilled while they sailed past.
 
Portuguese crossed themselves and murmured
to
Nossa Senhora
Maria.

Captain and
crew resumed structural repairs, general cleanup, and pumping the hold, while
Sophie and her companions sorted through the chaos in their cabins and cleaned
and repaired their gear and weapons.
 
Discouraged from taking a nap by all the noise, they mended clothing,
ate José's excellent fare, and avoided the tropical sun.
 
In truth, had they not been aware of the
brig's vulnerability, Friday might have felt restive.

Early
afternoon, ship's carpenter León, who was on the mainmast, spotted the Abaco
archipelago, northernmost islands of the Bahamas.
 
The brig headed southeast, paralleling a string of cays imbedded
in a barrier reef to the east of Abaco.
 
They turned southward again, rounding the middle of Great Abaco Island
and passing a cove occupied by a brig, her crew finishing repairs of storm
damage.
 
Tension dissipated from
Arriaga's face after a look through the spyglass confirmed the other ship as a
merchant he recognized, not a pirate.
 
About four in the afternoon, farther south on Great Abaco, the
Gloria
Maria
entered an empty, quiet cove secluded by royal palms and jungle.

Arriaga
unloaded four of his men into a gig and sent them scouting ashore.
 
They returned to report that all was quiet
on the beach and in the jungle, and the other brig had already set sail.
 
But human visitors had preceded them to the
cove, evidenced by salt-crusted remains of an old campfire.
 
The captain didn't seem concerned or
surprised by news of the campfire and had his men tow the
Gloria Maria
deep into the cove, past an island covered with billowing sea oats embedded in
alabaster sand.
 
Arriaga explained to
the passengers that in the morning, after transporting everyone ashore, the
crew would tow the brig in even closer to shore and careen her, enabling
sailors to plug leaks in the hull.

Only a few feet
of water separated the keel of the brig from the sandy bottom in the cove when
they anchored.
 
Never could Sophie have
imagined such turquoise water — so clear she could see all the way to starfish
on the bottom — or the pristine alabaster sand on the beach, sprinkled with
shells of rose, vermilion, taupe, and violet.
 
With the lush verdure, azure sky, balmy sea breeze, and fluffy cumulus,
she understood why pirates had favored the Bahamas.

Arriaga joined
her on the port side facing east and leaned both elbows on the railing.
 
"Beautiful, eh?"

The breeze
rippling through palms and sea oats ashore beckoned a welcome.
 
"In all my life, I've never seen
anything to compare with it.
 
Is this
what Cuba is like?"

"In some
places,
sim
.
 
But Cuba has more
variety.
 
Mountains, waterfalls, and
streams.
 
Many mahogany trees like that
one over there.
 
Hah.
 
If that were not the only mahogany tree on
this island, the Spaniards would be here, too, chopping wood for their ships as
they have done in Cuba."
 
He smiled
at her expression.
 
"You want to
step ashore today,
senhora
?"

"Only if
it doesn't interfere with your repairs."

Still smiling,
he straightened, the fervor of his gaze like a sultry summer night in the
Mediterranean.
 
Behind him, Mathias
approached, spotted the two of them together, and drew up short.
 
"I think I can spare someone to tour
you and your companions around."
 
Arriaga fingered her sleeve, as if brushing off lint.
 
"But you must be sure to catch some
crabs."

Sophie looked
from his fingers, to the sensuous curve of his lips, to the surprise on
Mathias's face.
 
"Crabs?"

"
Sim
.
 
They crawl out on the beach at night.
 
See the size of my hand?
 
Even bigger than that."
 
Scowling, Mathias strode back the way he'd
come, leaving Sophie to wonder whether the storm had siphoned the passion out
of him and into Arriaga.
 
"With the
moonlight tonight, you will not even need a lantern.
 
I will send Sebastião and twenty sacks with you in the gig."

"
Twenty
sacks,
capitão
?"

"You will
have no problem filling them."
 
His
laughter was vivacious, hearty with his love of the Atlantic Ocean.
 
"Crabs are stupid."

True to his
prediction, the crabs appeared after nightfall, scuttling across the sand.
 
In the moonlight, Tomás demonstrated to the
four passengers how to scurry up behind a crab and grab it, keeping fingers
clear of the claws.
 
Laughing and
kicking sand around, they filled the sacks in minutes.
 
In fact, they might have used a few more
sacks.
 
Crabs
were
stupid.