Captive Splendors (16 page)

“Heisted the King's jewels,” Caleb finished flatly. “I knew you were behind that caper the minute I heard the news. You might as well have drawn a road map, Farrington. It smacked of your devious hand. The only thing that surprises me is that you haven't been caught yet.” Caleb's face was tight and grim, but his eyes were speculative. “How much, Aubrey, on the black market?”

“Nothing less than a king's ransom!” Aubrey crowed smugly. “I've arranged for the transfer of the collar in Martinique. I'm sailing with you, Cal, to protect my investment.”

“Nice of you to tell me,” Caleb remarked coolly. “Somehow I knew you would. Now, tell me where the jewels are, in case one of my men decides you're taking up space and need to be eliminated. I wouldn't want this little trip to be for nothing.”

“You disappoint me, Cal. You know the rules a gambler lives by. I never reveal my hand.”

“If that hand's about to be cut off, you will. For now, though, I'll let you keep your little secret; but remember, the day I decide I want an answer is the day you'll babble like a court fool.”

“That seems to be a fair bargain,” Farrington replied blandly as he twirled his elegant Cavalier hat between his fingers. “Very generous of you indeed, Cal.” He turned to go, his uneasy stomach quieting to a purr. By now, Weatherly was safely ensconced in the bowels of the ship, securely sequestered in the locker box.

“One last thing, Aubrey. Even shares. Agreed?”

“Anything you say. You can trust me. Even shares it is.”

“Then you'll have no objection to signing this little document in the proper place,” Caleb went on, extending a piece of paper and a quill. “Cutthroat pirates aren't the only ones who have walked the plank, remember that. This is my ship and I'm the captain. Do we understand each other, Aubrey . . . old friend?”

“Perfectly.” Farrington smiled, put his signature to paper and strode from the cabin. A pity he had never learned to swim as a youth. He hated cold black water. But it will never come to that, he assured himself as he made his way to what would be his new home for the balance of the journey. He needed a drink, maybe two or three, to settle his stomach. Two-way splits were for fools. Three-way splits were for the feebleminded. Winner-take-all was the way it would be. All he had to do was figure out how to eliminate Weatherly and give Cal the slip, and he would be the winner.

The minute Farrington had left, a broad smile creased Caleb's face. Whom did he think he was fooling? He could have had the jewels in a minute if he had wanted them. Aubrey had lived by his wits too long. Where besides on his person would he keep them? And that rakish hat with its plume! What better place to hide something than the most obvious one of all?

 

Wren sat quietly while Lottie dozed in the cane rocker. Her mind whirled. She felt nothing, no emotion whatsoever. She should be feeling something, anything, to prove she was still alive and the same person she had been. She was sailing under an assumed name, in clothes stolen from God knows where, on a ship captained by her stepbrother, who was not to know she was aboard. She had a deck of marked cards that would enable her to cheat, and a hundred pounds and a cache of gems stashed next to her bosom. She had misjudged Malcolm, been raped and almost killed by his hand and his friends, and Sirena and Regan, those dearest to her heart, were lost to her forever. She was going to a new land overrun with savage Indians. How had all this happened? she questioned herself. Because I was a fool, she answered as tears trickled down her cheeks. She felt a small measure of comfort in knowing that if anything terrible did occur on the sailing, she could always plead with Caleb to intervene. Surely he wouldn't desert her. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and looked around the squalid room.

She had lived like this as a child; actually, she had lived under worse conditions until Lottie had found her and taken her in. The days when she had slept in alleys with garbage keeping her warm were behind her. She didn't have to think about them any longer. They were lost to her forever, and now she was going to a new land and a new life. She would have to survive on her own. She had learned her lesson well. Never trust anyone. Trust was for fools. She had believed and trusted Sara and Malcolm, and look what had happened to her! Sirena and Regan had trusted her, and see what she had done to them! And that bastard, Caleb, trying to seduce her in the garden. She hoped she had crippled him for life so that he could never take advantage of another young woman. Mentally she placed him in the same category with Malcolm and then wiped him from her mind. She would survive or die trying, and if the latter happened, she would endure it by her own hand—no one else's.

The stool Wren was sitting on teetered suddenly as she tried to make herself more comfortable till Seth returned. She wished she could see outside. She knew the moon was full, but layers of grease and dirt covered the windows with a smudgy grayness, eliminating all signs of moonlight. She blinked as she saw a parade of roaches cross the table and envelop a chunk of bread lying on a cracked plate. Within seconds the bread looked as if it were alive as it shriveled to nothing but crumbs. They have to eat, too, she told herself; they have to live just as I do. The spindly legs of the stool creaked again as she looked at Lottie. How could her old friend live like this? “Because she's never known anything else,” Wren muttered aloud. Bart and the others, they never knew anything else either. You did what you had to do to keep body and soul together; if something better came along, then you were lucky enough to taste the cream on top of the crock. “Damnation!” she spit through clenched teeth. She had lived with the garbage, slept under it and tasted the cream. She had no taste for garbage and swill and from now on she would have only cream.

The door opened silently this time, and the yellow cat was first through the opening. He leapt onto Lottie's lap and snuggled down in her filthy skirts. Seth nodded slightly. Wren rose first, and then Lottie. Neither woman said a word. Wren turned and followed the man through the doorway without a backward glance. She knew Lottie was crying silent tears as she cradled the cat in the crook of her arm. There were no tears left for Wren van der Rhys to cry.

“I'll be givin' ye me good-luck charm,” Seth said, holding out a portion of a sow's ear as they hurried down the alley. Wren accepted the offering of the silken talisman with a smile.

“I'll take good care of it and pray that it brings me as much good fortune as it has brought you.” It was all he had to give, and both knew it brought no luck, for if it had, Seth wouldn't be living like Lottie and taking care of her.

“Step lively, little one, and as soon as ye see a cluster of those black and white birds, mingle with them and make your way up the gangplank like ye belong with them. Don't look about, and keep your eyes down like the women do.” He squeezed her arm lightly and whispered, “Good luck, lass.”

Wren nodded and moved ahead quickly. She spotted a family of Puritans gathering near the frigate and slipped in among them, her head and eyes downcast. She knew every nook and cranny of the
Sea Siren
from the times Caleb had sailed to Java, and she could outwit anyone who might get in her way on board. Sirena had pointed out various hiding places to her and how she could dart from one to the other if a hunt were on for a stowaway.

She saw Caleb's boots first and realized she had to pass him. Her head lowered, she scuttled by him and knew from his stance that he hadn't given her more than a casual glance—if he had done even that. Cattle, animals, that was all they were to him. Human beings didn't sleep in the confines of a ship's hold. Human beings lived in houses, ate proper food and slept in proper beds. How many of these people would survive the trip? The older ones, with their pale skin and brittle bones, would never last it out. The dampness of the hold and the lack of fresh air would make them develop coughs, and they would be buried at sea before the voyage ended. Regan had told her this and she believed him. She wondered if Caleb had explained these facts to the people before he had agreed to captain the ship. Not likely. Why should he care, as long as he got what he wanted? Men were all alike. If they couldn't get what they wanted with their charm, they took it by force. Whatever she had left she wasn't giving up, either by charm or by force. If there was any charming to be done, she would do it; and if it came to exerting force, she could do that, too.

A pole jabbed her cruelly in the side. “Move on, now, you're holding up the line,” a harsh voice demanded, prodding her again. An angry retort rose to her lips, but she stifled it. Not now. She looked up to see who had jabbed her. Satisfied that she would remember the man's face, she quickened her pace and climbed down the ladder into the dark hold.

The
Sea Siren
secure, Caleb gave the order to weigh anchor. He cast a critical eye at the moon, measuring the stiff wind that bracketed the vessel. It was good sailing weather, better than he could have hoped for. His gut churned as the ship slid from her berth into the open water of the Thames. Six weeks with that ragtag passel of religious fanatics! In his eyes they all looked like somber penguins, intent only on converting souls and preaching fire and brimstone. Especially Bascom Stoneham, with his blazing eyes and self-righteous rantings and ravings. “Spare me from his daily visitations from the Lord,” he muttered under his breath. Did Puritans ever do anything else but pray? he wondered. A vision of Sara in her black garb flashed before him as he gave the wheel a hard turn. She wasn't so docile, and her brother's teachings looked as though they had fallen on deaf ears as far as she was concerned. Without her clothes, he imagined she would be a fine figure of a woman. It was going to be a long sailing, and what better way to while away a few hours every now and then? He would have Farrington suffer with Bascom's prayers and preachings. That would keep Bascom occupied and at the same time do the old reprobate some good. Aubrey could benefit from exposure to religion. It was time somebody made an effort to save that curmudgeon's soul.

With the ship sailing almost of her own free will because of the strong sea breeze, Caleb let his thoughts wander, as he always did the moment the Siren and he felt as one. He hoped that when Sirena and Regan found Wren, they would have a safe journey back to Java and the sons they loved so deeply. And Wren, where was she? His lips tightened and an imaginary pain attacked his midsection. Wherever she was, he knew she was in trouble. Trouble followed her, settled around her, and if he was any judge, it was her middle name. The grim set of his jaw lessened when he remembered how warm and soft she had felt in his arms, how ardently she had returned his kiss with the promise of more to come. Sweet, virginal Wren. “Spitfire” was more like it. His lips tightened again when he recalled how he had rolled on the ground in pain, his groin on fire. Suddenly he laughed. Sara's face had just swum before him, and she was asking him if he had spells. He'd show her the kind of spells he had before this trip was over! But where had Wren gone? Was she with that fop Weatherly? Surely she wouldn't be foolish enough to marry him. But just for spite she might. She had learned too much from Sirena. Wren was strong-willed, and had an ungovernable temper and a tongue that should have been forked. Yes, Sirena had taught her well. In his gut he knew they would cross paths again, and when they did, she wouldn't be a schoolgirl any longer.

Aubrey Farrington, resplendent in his sea attire, as he called it, marched on wavering legs to the wheelhouse, his face pale and his hands trembling. Caleb took one look at him and pointed to the railing. He listened as Farrington retched while holding his stomach as if it were going to drop to the deck.

“Whatever you do, don't eat today, Aubrey,” Caleb advised with a chuckle. “Serves you right for coming along. God's punishing you for not trusting me. You might have this miserable sickness for the entire length of the journey. Seek out Bascom Stoneham and ask him to pray for your relief.”

“Bastard,” Farrington hissed as he once again leaned over the rail. “I've lost today's breakfast, lunch and dinner. There's nothing left in my stomach.”

“You're being punished, Aubrey,” Caleb continued to taunt the gambler. “If you should waste away entirely or find you can't maneuver around, what shall I do with your body? You'd better tell me now where your prize is.”

“I'm not going to die, so don't concern yourself, you insufferable bastard. You're enjoying my agony, aren't you?” Farrington said weakly as a fresh wave of nausea swept over him.

“Couldn't happen to a nicer person. Go below and lie down. Sooner or later dizziness will overtake you, and you might fall and get hurt. I've no mind for setting bones this trip, and yours are so old I doubt if they could be mended. Splinters. There's no hope for you, Aubrey.”

The gambler was too weak to retort and gladly took the arm of a seaman named Peter, who helped him to his cabin. He barely reached the rough bunk before renewed attacks of nausea overcame him.

The Puritans settled themselves in the hold, three yellow smoking lamps lighting the darkness. Wren glanced around, trying to see if Sara was aboard. The blond girl was sitting next to her mother, an unhappy look on her face. Mrs. Stoneham looked as if she were praying. Wren carefully inched her way to a dim corner and sat down, drawing her knees up to her chin. She lowered her head and fell asleep almost immediately.

In what seemed like only moments later she was jarred awake by a prod to her leg. “Wake, sister, we're about to pray.” Wren blinked. She thought she had just seen the devil. She swallowed hard and got to her knees and bowed her head with the others. An hour later she fought the urge to laugh at the preaching man whose eyes were blazing with a vision of the Lord. She lifted her head defiantly and stared at him. She had had enough, and her knees hurt.