Chance the Winds of Fortune (34 page)

At first Rhea ignored her persistent requests for stories about life at Camareigh. She had resented the never-ending questions that kept her from slipping into a welcome apathy. But Alys was not to be denied, and finally Rhea had relented and begun to satisfy Alys Meredith's insatiable desire to hear about the Duke and Duchess of Camareigh, about Francis and Robin and the twins. Rhea told her about her cousins and her aunt with the gift of second sight, about her uncle who lived in a castle in Scotland, and about Butterick, Mrs. Peacham, and old Mason. As she described the grand house of Camareigh to her awed audience of one, Rhea revisited every room in her own mind. And never had there been a more responsive, spellbound listener than Alys Meredith.

Canfield, with her persnickety ways, Rawley and her special knowledge of herbs and potions, Robin's pony Shoopiltee, and Mr. Ormsbee and his Shakespearean plays all came to life with Rhea's vivid recollections of them. And from then on she fought off the seductive sleep of death, for she no longer felt alone when her memories could keep her company.

A bond of friendship had been forged between these two girls of such disparate backgrounds, and because it was nurtured under adverse conditions, it grew strong and inviolable. And yet, because of the darkness of their confinement, if they had met on the street, they would have walked past one another without a flicker of recognition.

It came, therefore, as somewhat of a surprise when standing on deck together for the first time to finally look into each other's faces, although if Rhea had seen the reflection of her own visage, she would not have known herself, for the weeks of deprivation had taken their toll. Her once softly rounded, heart-shaped face now had chiseled, sharply defined cheekbones and chin, while her feverishly bright violet eyes seemed far too large for her delicate-featured face. Her rose-tinted complexion now looked translucent, the skin stretched taut across the bones of her face.

She could not compensate for her loss of weight, but she had made an effort to comb her hair into some semblance of order. Even though she might feel as if she had been through the private hell of an inmate in an asylum, she had no intention of looking like a madwoman with her hair tumbling in unkempt tangles around her shoulders. She had borrowed Alys's brush and comb, which her friend had produced from the small bundle of possessions she had brought with her for her new life in the colonies, and had then braided her hair into a thick rope which hung down below her hips.

Now Rhea stared into the soft blue eyes of Alys Meredith and felt a sense of recognition as Alys smiled at her shyly. Alys Meredith was a tall, thin girl, who would not be described as pretty by any standards, and certainly not now with her straw-colored hair hanging dankly around her gaunt face. But under normal circumstances Rhea imagined that Alys's lightly freckled face would project a good-natured wholesomeness. A childish pug nose made her look younger than her fifteen years.

“Coooeee! Did ye ever see so much water, m'lady?” Alys exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder as she stared around at the endless expanse of whitecapped sea surrounding the
London Lady
. “Never did believe there could be this much, that I didn't. Reckon I was better off not knowin' all of this was out here,” she said nervously. Then she began to turn a sickly green as she stared up at the tall masts swaying dizzily with the motion of the ship in the choppy sea.

A tangy spindrift caressed Rhea's face as she raised it heavenward. The sun was a pale shadow of its summer self, and it was hoarding its warmth like a miser. But the silvery gray skies were better than darkness, and the bleak winds were at least fresh; the stench below finally had become overpowering and unhealthy for those too sick to climb on deck.

Rhea could feel her heart pounding with excitement, for land had been sighted, which meant this interminable voyage soon would be over. She had long ago lost count of the days, but that no longer mattered. As she stared at the hazy outline of distant land, Rhea felt a surge of triumph when she realized that she had survived the voyage, and that soon she would be homeward bound. But that was not a voyage she feared.

Suddenly someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Rhea turned to see a stranger assessing her thin face. He stood no taller than she did, and he had reddish hair swirling around his sharp-featured face. His pale brown eyes darted about in a calculating manner that reminded Rhea of a fox sniffing out its territory.

“Ye haven't fared too well this journey, but then I s'pose most folks in steerage suffer a bit. Pity, though, fer ye was a real beauty when I brought ye on board,” Daniel Lewis remarked. He knew by eyeing the goods that his asking price would have to drop, and his disappointment was evident. “Of course, ye still are a pretty little thing. A mite thin, ye are, but we'll fatten ye up and git ye into some clean clothes. Yes, sir, we might fetch a goodly sum fer ye yet,” he chuckled, pleased by the sight of the Carolinas sitting off the
London Lady
's bow, and anticipating with pleasure the profits he would reap when they docked.

He eyed the young girl thoughtfully, thinking it always did these kidnapped ones a might of good to suffer some on the voyage across; after all, if they were left to their misery, they were usually quite subdued and agreeable by the journey's end. The only difficulty, which was easy to overcome, was their reluctance to sign the indenture papers that made everything nice and legal. Daniel Lewis grinned, for this little chit wouldn't give him any trouble at all. It was usually the strong young men, brought on board drunk after being escorted from a tavern, who gave him the most problems. By this time the liquor had long ago worn off, and it was about now, when they smelled their freedom, that they turned mean.

“Now, I know ye'd like to git off this ship real soon, but before ye can, ye've got to sign papers,” Lewis began, his smile friendly, his words persuasive. “'Twill be the easiest way to go about gittin' ashore. So,” he said with a wide grin, his hands outspread, “I know ye won't be givin' me any trouble now, will ye?”

“You had better think again, for I am not signing anything,” Rhea told him with an angry glint darkening her eyes.

“Aye, well, I can understand that ye might not know how to sign yer name,” he replied agreeably, misunderstanding her reason for refusing to comply with his wishes. “I'll read the document to ye, I will. 'Tis me job.”

“I am afraid that you have misunderstood me, Mister Whomever-you-are,” Rhea responded, her confidence growing now that she was finally facing one of her kidnappers, “for I have no intention of signing anything, nor do I intend using your good offices to get ashore. You have committed a grave error in judgment this time, Mister Fox,” Rhea informed him, a smile of her own curving her lips.

Lewis seemed momentarily stunned by this young girl's elegant speech and haughty manner. A doubtful look began to grow in his eyes as he stared at this proud creature, whose disdain for him was only too obvious. Despite her pitiful appearance, she possessed a certain dignity that put him to shame, reminding him uneasily of a certain select segment of London society that dressed in silks and satins, and could, with an indolent flick of a fan, have him gallows-hanged for his misdeeds.

“I dunno who this Mister Fox is that ye be talkin' about, but 'tisn't me. Ye got the wrong man,” he said quickly. “Me name's Dan'l Lewis, and I'm the supercargo on board the
London Lady
. Now, what I'm wantin' to know, is who be ye?” he demanded aggressively, knowing before she spoke that his worst fears were most likely going to be realized.

“I am Lady Rhea Claire Dominick, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Camareigh. And you, Mister Fox,” Rhea said, satisfied by the spasm of fear that crossed his fox-like face, “are implicated in kidnapping and murder.”

Lewis's mouth gaped open in surprise when he heard her words passing sentence on him. “Murder!” he choked. “I don't know nothin' about no murder,” he said, lowering his voice as he glanced around nervously. “I'm innocent of any wrongdoing, honest I am, and I take exception at bein' so unjustly accused of so—so—so,” he stuttered, searching for the proper word.

“So malicious an act,” Rhea supplied kindly.

“Aye, m'lady, if indeed ye be who ye say ye are,” Lewis agreed. “I don't know nothin' beyond me duties as supercargo on board the
London Lady
.”

“He was the man who brought ye on board,” Alys contributed helpfully. “Ye was carried on board senseless, so he must know somethin',” she added, taking a step backward as Daniel Lewis eyed her with a look of growing dislike.

“Yes, it might be interesting to learn who the gentleman was who shot down the Earl of Rendale, then kidnapped me from my home,” Rhea remarked, watching the different emotions fleeing across Lewis's paling face.

Although it was close to freezing on deck, Lewis was sweating profusely and silently cursing the name of Edward Waltham for getting him involved in kidnapping and murder—and not just the murder of any bloke, but an earl. Lord help him, but this was turning nasty, and he wasn't sure how he was going to get out of it. If it meant saving his own neck, then he would with great pleasure inform the authorities about Teddie Waltham. As for himself, well, all he was guilty of was illegally transporting a bonded servant. A man couldn't be hanged for that, could he?

He glanced back at the young girl. Her thin face looked pinched as the cold winds blew against her, making her cape billow out around her. The daughter of the Duke of Camareigh, eh? Aye, that was bad.

“Reckon the best thing to do is to have a word with the captain,” Lewis suggested. “Now I'm not sayin' I believe ye, but just in case ye be tellin' the truth, I don't want no duke thinkin' I mistreated his daughter,” Lewis said with a sickly grin. Then he looked around for the familiar figure of his captain.

“Ye best wait here while I have a word with him,” he suggested, but Rhea caught his arm just as he was about to walk away.

“I would like to have a word with this captain of yours myself,” Rhea told him firmly, not trusting the man out of her sight. Even though he wasn't the man who had shot Wesley and drugged her, she knew he might very well be mixed up in this business far deeper than he was willing to admit.

“As ye wish,
m'lady
,” he said sarcastically, bowing low before her. “This way, if ye please.”

“Come along, Alys,” Rhea said, tugging the bemused girl with her.

“Just ye, and no one else,” Lewis said, then added with a malicious look at the plain-faced girl, “unless she be the queen? Which is just as likely a story as ye bein' the daughter of a duke. Reckon ye both just got scared about comin' to the colonies. I'm willin' to forget this conversation; all ye have to do is say the word and sign this paper of indenture. There'll be no hard feelings about it a'tall,” he tried one last time in a conciliatory tone. But he could tell by the set of the young girl's shoulders that she was having nothing to do with it.

“Alys comes with me,” Rhea told him, unimpressed by his attempt at peacemaking. “Take me to the captain, or I'll scream the rigging down around your head.”

“Aye, thought ye might be of that mind. So be it.” Lewis finally capitulated. “Come along, then.”

“Where are we going?” Rhea demanded, surprised when the supercargo began heading toward the companionway.

“The captain's not on deck. Reckon he's in his cabin. So, d'ye want to speak with him or not?” he asked impatiently, shrugging his shoulders as if what she did mattered little to him.

Rhea gritted her teeth as she descended once again into the darkness of the ship, her mind rebelling against ever having to return to that hellhole called steerage. With an effort she quickened her steps and followed Daniel Lewis to a closed door, waiting patiently while he knocked. As a voice bid them enter, she steeled herself to face this man who might or might not be an enemy.

Captain Benjamin Haskell eyed the intruders with an unfriendly eye, and when he recognized his supercargo standing before him, his expression became even less friendly.

“Well?” he demanded harshly. “What do you want, Mr. Lewis? I do not like to be disturbed while I am resting in my cabin. You know that, Mr. Lewis. So why have you brought these people in here to disturb my peace and quiet?” he asked, his acrimonious manner unchanged when his supercargo began his whining explanation.

“You wanted to see me, girl? Why? Answer me quickly before I lose my patience with you, girl,” he ordered Rhea, his dark eyes burning into her soul. But as she stared back unflinchingly, she sensed a deep anguish in his hollow-eyed face.

As if he were now sensing her perceptive scrutiny, he stood up, towering over the three intruders. He was a giant of a man, black-browed and barrel-chested, and even though his long arms dangled loosely at his sides, Rhea could well imagine them squeezing the life out of someone.

“Well? Are you deaf and dumb?” he asked, his voice raised in something just less than a roar.

Rhea had to keep a close rein on her temper, for she had never before been spoken to so rudely. “No, sir, I am not deaf nor dumb, and I can hear you perfectly well without your yelling at me. I am not accustomed to being treated in so discourteous a manner. But then,” she continued, her glance resting significantly on Daniel Lewis's short figure, “I have never been kidnapped before, nor witnessed a murder, nor been sent across the sea in little better than a prison ship. No, sir, captain, you will forgive me if at times I find myself slightly speechless about what I have been subjected to.”

Captain Haskell's bellowing rage was silenced by her quiet rebuttal and her refusal to be cowed. “My pardon,” he said simply. “You have me at a disadvantage. May I inquire what your name is?”