Becoming Lady Lockwood (13 page)

Amelia opened her mouth to unleash a tirade upon the capitaine, but another slight shake of William’s head stopped her.

Her head reeled. William and his officers were to be executed. She did not know whether to plead with the capitaine or to scream at him. Either method would probably have the same effect of simply angering him.

Capitaine Valiquette still held her hand and was studying her face. “It will be delightful to have your company, Lady Lockwood. I would be pleased if you would join me aboard my ship for dinner zis evening.”

The officer who the capitaine had spoken to before said something in French that caused Amelia’s ears to burn and both men to laugh. Apparently the capitaine did not have the most pure of reputations when it came to entertaining women in his quarters.

Amelia considered telling them that she would rather face the guillotine herself than spend the evening with Capitaine Valiquette and his curling mustache, but she knew she must remain in his good graces if she was to have any hope of helping William and his men. She needed to think of a plan, and she needed the freedom to do it. Convincing the capitaine that she was a harmless woman whom he did not need to keep under guard was her best chance to do anything useful. And based on what she’d heard the officer say, a bit of flirting would not hurt her efforts.

She gave the capitaine her most engaging smile and slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Thank you, monsieur. I would like that very much.”

He lifted her hand, planted a kiss on her fingers, then set it back upon his arm. Amelia glanced at William. His jaw was clenched as he watched them.

Capitaine Valiquette kept his hand upon hers as he gave orders in French. Amelia listened closely, hoping her face did not reveal the fact that she was concentrating on his words, hoping to learn some information that would help William and his men. The British marines were to be incarcerated upon the French ship, and the officers locked up in the brig of the
Venture
. Their weapons were to be confiscated and stowed in the bow near the brig.

Most of the French soldiers would remain on board the English ship, supervising the repairs and keeping her crew in line, with the orders that any insubordination would result in the guilty party being immediately shot and tossed overboard with no questions asked.

The capitaine was most excited about the larders aboard the
Venture
, as apparently the supplies on his ship were quite low. As Amelia listened, another French sailor reported the extent of the damage to their ship. It seemed that while the French army may have been stingy with rations, the extra sails aboard their ship were plentiful and in good condition. The officer predicted that they should be able to sail both ships to France on the morrow.

Amelia watched as the officers were ushered below deck at the point of their enemies’ bayonets. William turned his head, surveying the destruction surrounding him, and for a brief instant, his gaze met hers. Seeing the tension in his eyes, her heart clenched. She must do something.

Amelia was relieved when Capitaine Valiquette finally relinquished his hold on her arm.

“Madame, I shall send for you in two hours.” The capitaine twirled his mustache and smiled.

“Thank you, sir. I shall be looking forward to it.” She curtsied and batted her eyelashes.

Capitaine Valiquette kissed her hand once again, which Amelia felt was taking entirely too many liberties, and they parted. She walked as calmly as she could up the gangway to the quarterdeck and into the captain’s quarters. Once she was inside, she shut the door and sat hard upon the floor, holding her head in her trembling hands.

With the marines and officers locked up and the crew under armed guard, Amelia was their only hope. And the idea didn’t exactly fill her with confidence.

Amelia couldn’t let William and
his men face execution. The very thought nearly caused her to stop breathing, and she thrust it from her mind. It would help no one if she were to panic. She must concentrate.

They were in French waters, and she suspected it would take less than a day to reach the mainland once the capitaine decided to set sail. The ships would be separated, and all hope of regaining the
Venture
would be lost without the marines. That left just her tonight. She had two hours to think of a plan. But what could she do? Various strategies came to mind, and she subsequently discounted each. She couldn’t overpower the soldiers or damage their ship. She realized she had very little to offer in the way of espionage skills.

What were her talents? Sewing sails? Managing a plantation. Neither would be of any use. Sugar. She definitely knew sugar, but how would understanding the proper use of sweetener accomplish anything? Just as she started to discard this thought, an idea began to take shape. She did know sugar, very likely better than nearly anyone. And she could use that. But how to set the plan into action?

Amelia hurried into Captain Drake’s private sleeping quarters and shut the door. At the very bottom of her trunk lay her fanciest satin dress. She chose it not only to impress Capitaine Valiquette—he would be easy to distract with a pretty gown and a bit of eye batting—but because of the full skirts, with their layers of ruffles and flounces. The many petticoats she would wear beneath it would perfectly conceal the items she needed.

Hurriedly pulling out her small sewing kit, Amelia set to work stitching the hems of her petticoats together in a manner that created hidden pockets beneath the dress. Once she finished, she realized that over an hour had already passed. She pulled on the strings of her short stays corset; tied the strings above her waist; and then slid the dress over her head, reaching behind herself awkwardly to fasten the buttons and wishing, not for the first time, that she had a lady’s maid aboard.

Once she was tied up and buttoned in, she stepped onto the quarterdeck and walked down the gangway, knowing that she attracted plenty of attention in her bright blue dress. She smiled and waved to the French guards as she made her way down to the orlop deck, although inside, her heart was pounding. What if someone stopped her and demanded that she return to her room? She mustn’t look suspicious. Forcing herself to walk, not run, down the companionway, she found the doctor at work in the operating theater.

“Hello, Dr. Spinner,” she sang. “I will be just a moment.” She winked at him quickly and hoped he would understand not to question her.

The doctor’s eyebrows rose when he saw her dress, but he just said, “Very well, miss,” and returned to the patient whose arm he was suturing.

Amelia hurried past the guards to the dispensary cabinet and found the bottle she needed. She bid farewell to the doctor and hurried out of the theater with a few smiles and waves, marveling at the fact that nobody suspected her capable of any deception just because she was a woman. They probably assumed she was procuring smelling salts to prevent herself from having hysterics or some other such womanly malady. Once she was alone in the companionway, she bent down and slipped the bottle into one of the hidden pockets in her petticoats.

She wondered how much time had passed, hoping she still had at least twenty minutes before the capitaine sent for her. Sweeping into the galley, she found Slushy, and glancing around to ensure that there were no guards, she pulled him into the purser’s storeroom and shut the door.

“Slushy, I need your help.”

Reaching into her petticoats, she pulled the laudanum from the hidden pocket. “We must get this into the French soldiers’ rum.”

Slushy’s eyes opened wide. He glanced at the door then pulled her to the far corner of the room. “Miss, I’m sorry about the captain. I am. But this just won’t work, and we’d be killed for even attempting it.”

Amelia felt her throat begin to constrict. “Slushy, please. You don’t need to do anything; I just need a few bottles of rum. If I’m caught, I’ll say that I acted alone. Please help me.”

Slushy folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. His eyes had softened. “I know you’re desperate, miss. I’d do anything to help the captain. But this . . . it’s not a good plan. They’ll taste that stuff. It’s bitter as—”

Amelia interrupted him. “But we have treacle. It won’t completely cover the taste, but it will help disguise it. Please, Slushy. The French captain’s sending the officers to the guillotine. This is our only chance.” She held on to his hand. “Just a few bottles, please?”

Slushy looked down at where Amelia was squeezing the life out of his hand. He looked into her face and must have seen something there because he sighed. “Very well, miss.” He walked to the cupboard at the side of the room and pulled the key from his pocket.

Amelia rushed to pull a jar of treacle and a cup from the shelf and sat on the floor. She poured a large dollop of the treacle into the cup and opened the laudanum. The smell alone was enough to make her eyes water. She carefully drizzled a small amount into the cup and, using the wooden spoon Slushy handed her, began to mix the two together.

Amelia had learned from the doctor that even a very small amount of the potent medicine was enough to render a man unconscious. She dipped her finger into the mix and touched a bit onto her tongue, wincing at the still bitter taste of the laudanum, and added more of the sugary syrup. She knew she couldn’t sample it very often during the process unless she wanted to find her own senses dulled, or worse, wake up hours later on the floor of the storeroom.

Once she was satisfied that the bitterness of the tincture was sufficiently disguised, Slushy helped her add the mixture to bottles of rum, pouring a bit back out to taste again. She swished a small amount around in her mouth before spitting it out—not caring that Slushy saw such an unladylike act. The taste proved that the sweetness of the rum and treacle had worked precisely as she’d thought it would, and while the rum tasted a bit different, the bitterness of the laudanum was concealed. Amelia hid the laudanum in her petticoats, not wanting to leave any evidence that might implicate Slushy.

In all, they had tainted twelve bottles of rum. After they hurriedly replaced the corks, Amelia slipped three bottles carefully into her petticoats, padding them with cloth to prevent them from clanging against each other. She carried one in her hand, and the other eight were to be delivered to the French soldiers aboard the
Venture
. Slushy planned to ask the ship’s boys and mess cooks to pass the word to the English sailors to avoid the rum at all costs.

Using a barrel for support, Slushy stood and held his hand out to pull Amelia to her feet.

She swayed her hips and walked around experimentally, ensuring that the bottles would not bang against each other and would remain hidden beneath her skirts. Before she left, she wrapped her arms around Slushy. His embrace was tight, and she realized that he was worried for her.

“You take care of yerself, miss. And teach them Frenchies a thing or two.”

“Don’t you worry, Slushy.” Amelia’s voice shook. She had been so sure of this plan, but now that she was about to leave the safety of the galley, she realized that she was truly afraid. What if she was discovered? She did not believe that she would even have the hope of waiting until they reached France before she was executed.

She walked up to the main deck, holding her face in a smile even though inside she felt like she would shatter. But she could not fail. William’s and his men’s lives depended upon it. And she could not let them down.

The officer that Amelia had seen the capitaine speaking to earlier caught her eye when she stepped onto the main deck. He walked toward her.

“Bonjour, madame,” he said, continuing in stilted English. “I am Jacques. If you please, I will bring you to Capitaine Valiquette’s quarters.”

“Bon-jewer, Jacques,” Amelia replied, purposely slaughtering the French pronunciation badly enough to make the man’s nostrils flare. “Mer-cee.” She followed him to the gunwale, where a board had been laid between the two ships. The board slanted downward since the French ship rode lower in the water than the
Venture
.

Amelia handed Jacques the bottle she held then grabbed her skirts tight as he helped her step up onto the plank behind him. The ships were not steady. They bobbed with the waves, and Amelia gripped Jacques’s hand probably more tightly than was necessary as she walked and slid down toward the other ship. A sailor at each end held the board to keep it from slipping off the rails and plunging them into the ocean. She focused on the lanterns on the opposite side, glad that it was still foggy and she could not see how high she was above the water.

When she reached the other ship, she stepped down onto the deck with Jacques’s assistance, again maneuvering her swaying skirts away to keep the bottles from bumping into his ankles. From what she could see in the near darkness and the fog, the French ship was smaller than the
Venture
. Few soldiers stood upon the decks as she walked past, and those that did merely smiled and tipped their caps to her.

They reached a door. Jacques knocked, and upon hearing the voice inside bidding them enter, he swung open the door and bowed as Amelia entered.

Capitaine Valiquette stepped toward her and took her hand, kissing it. “Madame, you look
très belle
tonight.”

The hair on the back of Amelia’s neck rose. She could all but feel the capitaine’s eyes skim over her, and she fought down a small wave of panic. Jacques was going to leave her alone with this man, and who knew what thoughts the curling-mustached capitaine had on his mind? She remembered the British officers kneeling upon the deck of their ship, hands bound, and the cruel way the Frenchman had struck William. She clenched her teeth and steeled up her courage. This French capitaine would regret ever challenging the
Venture
and Captain William Drake.

“Thank you, Capitaine,” she said, trying to sound demure instead of terrified.

Jacques handed the bottle to Capitaine Valiquette, telling him in French that Amelia had brought it with her.

“I do hope you enjoy rum, capitaine. This bottle is from my own sugarcane plantation in Jamaica,” Amelia said. She gave him what she knew was a flirtatious smile.

Capitaine Valiquette dismissed Jacques and pulled the cork out of the bottle, filling the two goblets that sat upon the table. He pulled out a chair for Amelia, and she sat carefully, adjusting her skirts around her. He pushed her chair in and trailed his fingers down her arm before taking his own seat next to her.

Amelia felt a sudden urge to wash her skin where the capitaine had touched it.

A steward entered with a tray and placed their meals upon the table, pulling the coverings off the plates and setting their napkins into their laps.

The capitaine dismissed him and indicated for Amelia to begin her meal.

Amelia had to force her eyes away from the capitaine’s goblet and cut a small bite of pork. Her appetite was nonexistent, and she hoped he didn’t notice her hands shaking.

“This is delicious, Capitaine,” Amelia said, willing him to pick up his goblet.

“Please, let us dismiss with the formalities. You must call me Philippe.” He smiled, cut a large piece of meat, and pushed it into his mouth, chewing noisily.

“Then, Philippe, I hope you will call me Amelia.” She tried not to stare at the way his mustache wagged up and down as he chewed.

“Amelia. It is a lovely name.” When he grinned, she was able to see that he had not entirely swallowed his pork before baring his teeth. If her nerves weren’t already making her stomach queasy, Philippe’s table manners would have done the job nicely.

She lifted her goblet. “To new friendships, Philippe.”

He picked up his own goblet and took a drink, sloshing the rum around in his mouth to clear out any remaining food before he swallowed in a gulp and belched loudly.

Amelia kept her lips closed as she tipped her drink toward her then dabbed her napkin on her mouth. “And how do you find the rum, sir?”

“Very good,” he said, taking another swallow. “It has a . . . different . . . flavor.”

“Yes, it is the treacle. An old family recipe.” She winked at him and then wished she had not when he slid his chair closer, brushing his leg against hers. Amelia was beginning to feel a bit alarmed. Not only because he had moved so near but also because the capitaine’s ankle was disturbingly close to the bottles hidden in her skirts. And he’d had two large gulps of the rum. Was it having no effect? Had something gone wrong? Perhaps she had misjudged the dosage or not been aware that rum somehow affected the potency of the medicine.

Philippe ripped off a large mouthful of bread with his teeth and began to gnaw on it.

Amelia reached across the table for the bottle. “Here, allow me to refill your drink, Philippe.”

Taking another large swig of rum, he swished it around in his mouth with the half-chewed bread and gulped the entire glob down his throat with some effort. Amelia was quite impressed that only a small squirt of rum escaped his lips. Capitaine Valiquette was truly a marvel of deplorable etiquette.

“Very good rum, would you not agree, Amelia?” Was it her imagination? Or did his eyes look just a bit sleepy?

“Oh, thank you, Philippe. I am so pleased that you like it.”

Philippe placed his hand on the back of Amelia’s chair, and she froze. How was this man still conscious? And how would she possibly defend herself if he got any more familiar?

“Amelia, you will enjoy traveling aboard my ship.” His face was horribly close to her own, and she found that tainted rum lent his breath a quite putrid aroma. “Ze French, we are gentlemen, not unshaven savages like the English captain and his sea dogs.”

Amelia blinked. She pursed her lips and attempted to control her anger by focusing on the drop of rum that hung precariously from the tip of one of the capitaine’s mustache curls. “Sir, I am afraid you are quite mistaken. The captain and his men have been very gracious to me.”