Lady of Spirit, A (15 page)

It was imperative that Maggie come up with a plan in the next few minutes. But questions flapped and screamed in her mind and, combined with her panic for Claude, took her dangerously close to paralysis.

Catalogue your resources, Maggie, and then apply your imagination
.

The Lady’s voice in her memory, warm and laced with humor, sounded over the frantic noise in her brain. Resources. Yes. One thing at a time.

The
chaloupes
.

They would be going back empty. She could stow away in one, and once they reached
Neptune’s Maid
, she could find Claude and figure out a way to spirit him off the ship when they made landfall.

Wherever that might be.

I don’t want to go to France. Not like this.
Stowing away was no good. She had told Lizzie she would stall them until help came, but how?

Sabotage.

The men were laughing and relaxing now that their work was done. Someone broke out a flask, and amid joking about not sharing the wealth with the Cornishmen who had gone, they all took a tipple.

Maggie knelt next to the lead
chaloupe
and realized the sky visible through the arch behind her had lightened from black to charcoal. The crew could not risk being seen by an early fisherman, so she had not a moment to lose. She studied the wheel mechanism. If she disabled it, would the proceedings stop? No, they would simply drag the thing into deeper water and start up its engine.

Disable said engine?

A good plan, except that the entire thing appeared to be accessible only from the inside. Reasonable, if you went about underwater, where movable parts could be bent or attacked by roving bands of barnacles. She would certainly be seen if she tried to scale the rounded hull of the thing, which stretched above her head a good five feet.

Blast and bebother it! Think, Maggie!

Her mechanical resources did not seem useful. What others did she possess? She was good with chickens and other creatures. She was good at reading people and understanding what they meant behind what they said. She could mimic just about anyone.

It didn’t help that he was a tremendous mimic, and half the time was telling us riddles in someone else’s voice.
And Michael had laughed as he told her of her father and his talent.

Her
real
father. For it was utterly impossible that the Banbury tale her grandparents had spun was the truth. She possessed none of Charles de Maupassant Seacombe’s traits, with the exception of a similar eye color, and if one knew genetics as she did, that was hardly an indication of a direct relationship.

But whom could she mimic that would help in this situation? Oh dear—they were climbing down from the landing now. In a moment they would all load themselves into this
chaloupe
and her only chance would be lost!

M.A.M.W.

Meriwether-Astor had a daughter, did he not? Granted, the languid creature was the same age as the Lady, and Maggie was not yet seventeen, but maybe this lot didn’t know that.

Maybe they hadn’t met her.

Maggie hadn’t seen her in five years, but to give her credit, the girl had helped them out of a very sticky situation. She had a good heart, even if she’d been brought up by a villain. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind being generous with her name—if Maggie could only think of it. And her voice. And maybe even her posture.

There was no time. She’d have to go ahead, and hope to heaven the mort’s name came to her.

Maggie ducked out of the
sawan
’s arch and shook her skirts out of their clasps so that they fell to cover her ankles, then straightened her collar and wished she were wearing a ballgown or a riding habit or anything more ladylike than her raiding rig.

Then again, she had all kinds of useful devices secreted in its pockets and hems, so in this situation, perhaps raiding rig was the most practical option. Miss Meriwether-Astor would never be caught dead in it, but these men needn’t know that.

She dropped her shoulders, thrust out her pelvic bones, and strolled into the
sawan
, crossing in front of the
chaloupe’
s running lights in a way that made them illuminate the ruffles on her cream eyelet blouse and catch the attention of every man Jack on the sand.

Name—name—oh,
what
was the daughter’s name?

“Hello, the boat,” she greeted them in the flat accents of New York, overlaid with a little British schooling and a generous dollop of
nouveau riche
entitlement. “What are my chances of catching a lift out to
Neptune’s Maid
with you?”

The joking and laughter faded into sheer astonishment, then muttering and exclamations. The voice she’d heard first said, “Who in tarnation are you?”

Elmira—no, Sophia—no—

Her eyes widened in impatience. “Didn’t you get Papa’s pigeon? I’ve been visiting the Seacombes for a week and I am so
bored
I could scream. I told him I was dying to go to Paris, and he said he’d arrange it with you.”

The men looked at one another, then the Texican one said, “I’ll ask you again, missy—who are you?”

Gloria—? Gloria! That was it!

She sniffed. “I suppose you can’t be expected to know, but believe me, you’ll remember next time if you want to keep your job. I am Gloria Meriwether-Astor, of course. Now, are you going to do as I ask, or do I have to go and fetch the Seacombes to vouch for me at four in the morning?”

Someone snickered in the back, and soon two or three were laughing. The Texican grinned at her. “We got us a Seacombe ourselves, and it won’t be long before those two snap to it and give your pa what he wants.”

How much would Gloria be expected to know about whatever her father was up to? It seemed to Maggie she had known quite a lot, being dragged about from continent to continent. “I should hope so. They’d be quite mad if they didn’t. Now, will you hand me into this thing?”

“Where are your
baggages
, mademoiselle?” Another man, who could not be much older than Michael, came to join the Texican, who pulled a lever and lowered the ramp into the lead
chaloupe
. “Surely you do not plan to voyage wiz us just as you are?”

Maggie gave him her best smile and a flutter of her lashes. She knew a thing or two about charming Frenchmen, especially young ones. “Monsieur, you are too kind,” she said in flawless Parisian French. “But as to my adventure in the
navire
—from what Papa has said of it, I feel quite sure that the extra weight of trunks and valises would be inappropriate,
non
? To say nothing of the space they would require. It is of no matter in any case—I have clothes enough at the hotel in Paris, and I expect Papa will meet us once he knows I have joined you.”

“You are most perspicacious, mademoiselle,” he returned in the accents of Arles, in the south, and bowed with the respect of a man who appreciates the young and pretty—and considerate. To his companions, he said, “She brings nothing so as to keep the extra weight in the
navire
to a minimum. She will join her father in Cornaouille.”

“The big boss is coming?” someone asked. “Is it really gonna happen?”

“It seems zat it is,” the Frenchman returned, offering Maggie his hand. “I predict that Mademoiselle Meriwether-Astor is departing England for more urgent reasons than it is wise to share with just anyone,
non
?” He twinkled at Maggie.

She smiled the kind of smile that holds secrets and the promise of confidences later on. “Monsieur, you are altogether too observant,” she told him in a low tone. “I suspect you will go far.”

“You are too kind, mademoiselle,” he said. “
Alors
, watch this ramp. It is slippery and at the angle so steep. Perhaps a word in your father’s ear about these good qualities in your servant Jean-Luc Martin, should you find it convenient …?”

“It will be my pleasure,” Maggie told him.

She could not stall any longer. She had no choice but to board the vessel—no one was going to come from the house, and even if someone did, how could an old man like her grandfather hope to stop this rough crowd, who flung crates up on landings as if they weighed nothing? Who did not have the respect for him that would make them stop to listen, much less obey?

They had laughed at the mention of him—her grandfather, who was the first gentleman in all the lands hereabouts. A gentleman who clearly was under the thumb of Mr. Meriwether-Astor, though how that had come about and what it meant for the immediate future she did not know. But she meant to find out.

Riding in the
chaloupe
was rather like being stoppered in a bottle—the kind that sailors on desert islands might throw into the sea with a message inside. There was nowhere to sit but on the floor, so someone threw down a coat and she folded herself upon it, careful to keep her back straight and her skirts covering all possible glimpses of ankle and foot.

The tenders increased the steam pressure, and the
chaloupe
, tugging its train of cars, trundled into the sea. The water closed over its glass dome and Maggie felt the moment when the wheels slid into their housings and the thing began to move through the water under its own power.

“How very extraordinary,” she murmured. It was a good thing she did not share Lizzie’s fear of water, or the prospect of half the ocean bursting in through the seams above her head would be terrifying.

Jean-Luc, who seemed to have made himself her personal escort, gave her a short course on the control and piloting of it. “But zis is nothing compared to
Neptune’s Maid
,” he said. “I shall introduce you to her captain personally. He is called Paul Martin and he is one of the premier bathynauts in your father’s employ.”

“Have you served under Captain Martin long?”

His smile held pride and satisfaction. “I am his youngest brother, so I am in the position particular to say so.”

The five hundred yards or so that they had to travel could have been fifty, and far sooner than Maggie would have liked, a shadow loomed over their heads, blocking out the silver light of the moon.

“Monsieur Martin, how are we to be taken aboard?” she asked as innocently as if she had not seen the
chaloupes
embark an hour ago.

Only an hour.

Could it be only an hour since the worst thing she had to worry about was her grandparents’ poor opinion of her? She would give nearly anything to be back in that house with Claude and Lizzie safe and sound, and would happily take her grandparents’ slings and arrows as long as she knew she and her cousins would all be together.

But that wasn’t likely to happen, was it? Even if none of this had happened, the fact still remained that Grandfather was in trouble. Maggie wondered when she would ever feel truly safe again.

And then the great hinged jaw on the underside of the
Maid
opened and sucked them up inside … and there was no more time for looking back.

Captain Paul Martin, Maggie saw at once, was not going to be the pushover his younger brother was. When Jean-Luc introduced her, with all the flourishes the daughter of their boss was entitled to, Captain Martin merely regarded her, his eyes shadowed. “And why was I not informed that such an important passenger would be joining us?”

“The pigeon seems to have been misdirected, Paul,” his brother said.

“Impossible. M.A.M.W. pigeons fly only to M.A.M.W. ships—or, in this case, to a Seacombe ship under special instruction.”

“Must I be included in a discussion of pigeons?” Maggie sighed, practically wilting with boredom. She did, however, finally see why the pigeon had gone to
Athena
instead of Grandfather’s steamship
Demelza
. Somehow, it had detected the old M.A.M.W. registry code and gone there first, even though Lewis had been careful to reconfigure it so that
Athena
flew practically undetected by anyone except their own pigeons.

“I completely agree,” the Captain said. “But you must forgive me for some confusion on this point. Even if I had not been informed regarding your coming aboard this evening, I should certainly have known you were residing at
maison
Seacombe, so that I might have carried messages or extra luggage for you.”

“How very kind you are.” Maggie gave him a limpid glance from grateful eyes.

Which did absolutely nothing to soften the expression in his.

“Must I present my bona fides, then?” She reached back into her memory—but thanks to Emilie’s wedding last week, not as far back as she might have done. “Let’s see. I was educated in London at St. Cecilia’s Academy for Young Ladies, where I was particular friends with Lady Julia Wellesley—now Mount-Batting—and Lady Catherine Montrose. Excuse me, I mean Mrs. David Haliburton. I returned to the Americas with Papa afterward, and traveled with him to the diamond mines of the Canadas. From there, we—”

“Paul,
mon Dieu
, must we subject the young lady to this so wearisome treatment?” Jean-Luc had flushed with embarrassment. “I think her papa would not appreciate it when he hears of it. May I not show her to a cabin where she may refresh herself?”

The captain stiffened at being thus familiarly addressed in front of the rest of his crew. “I hardly consider questioning an unexpected passenger wearisome. Might I remind you that the well-being of crew and vessel is my responsibility, not yours?”

“I promise I shall do nothing to affect that well-being,” Maggie said in French with a smile. “Except in a positive manner, of course.”

Captain Martin’s gaze became speculative. “Your French is very good. How long did you study in Paris?”

Oh dear. She would have to fudge, because she had no idea of Gloria’s movements in the last five years. The Lady had only heard from her twice, and those were brief scribbles that might have come from anywhere. The girl could have been in the Antipodes studying the dodo bird, for all any of them knew.

She drew herself up, as though the question had been offensive. “We have quite good tutors in the Fifteen Colonies, surprising though that might seem,” she said with icy civility. “But with Papa’s recent business in France, I have had the opportunity to perfect any … flaws.”

“I did not mean to cause offense, mademoiselle,” he said smoothly. “Jean-Luc, please show our guest to my cabin. Our journey will only be of two hours’ duration, and we are far enough by now into the Channel that we cannot return her to her hosts the Seacombes in any case.”

Maggie allowed herself to gaze out of the glass that allowed the captain a one-hundred-eighty-degree view of their progress under the sea. The running lights pierced the Stygian darkness with a greenish light, touching on submerged rocks and waving forests of weed, on great silvery schools of fish, on the occasional wrecked ship. Perhaps they were sailing over the graveyard of the Spanish Armada itself.

Perhaps they would be sailing over her own, if she did not figure out how to get herself and Claude out of this fix on the double-quick.

She followed Jean-Luc down a passage with rounded walls, much like the barrel of a gun, that branched off in shorter corridors or down ladders to the various areas of the ship—galley, mess, bunks, armory. Jean-Luc pointed them out proudly. Maggie counted her steps and estimated that the
Maid
was roughly a hundred feet long and perhaps a third of that deep.

Was it big enough to hide in, though? And where, among all these chambers and ladders, was Claude?

Jean-Luc showed her into a fairly large room on the uppermost deck, in a location near what might be the pectoral fin on a shark, after politely waiting with his back turned until she had climbed the ladder so that he would not see up her skirts.

And the first thing to meet her gaze was Claude, sound asleep on the bunk in its cupboard, snoring like a locomotive.

“Goodness!” she exclaimed, before lowering her voice. “Are you quite sure it is proper to show me into a room where a gentleman is sleeping?”

“Do you not know this gentleman?”

“Of course. He has been my dinner and dancing partner these last several nights. It is Claude Seacombe, slightly the worse for wear after having a
razzle
, as he calls it, in the taverns of Penzance. But whether I know a gentleman or not has no bearing on the propriety of it, monsieur.”

Jean-Luc laughed. “Ah, you colonials. Always so aware of propriety—except when you can get away with having none. I do not think Monsieur Seacombe is in any condition to put your reputation at risk, mademoiselle. Please feel free to wash up—
Neptune’s Maid
carries fresh water, as well as that which is produced when the seawater is changed to steam in the boilers.”

“She is a lovely ship. I have just decided she is my favorite of all Papa’s fleet.” She ran a hand over the arch of the door. “Just look at this carving—like the entrance to a treasure cave inhabited by mermaids.”

“Ah, but she is small compared to the others.
Neptune’s Bride
, for instance, displaces twice as much water, and
Neptune’s Messenger
is capable of speeds up to twenty knots. And
Neptune’s Fury
, of course—” He stopped with an admiring shake of the head. “Well, the world will soon see what
Neptune’s Fury
is capable of.”

“What do you mean?” Maggie asked, pretending to bend over Claude’s recumbent form to see if he had awakened at the sound of their voices.

“But you test me, mademoiselle, when you are as aware as I that we are not to speak of it.” He wagged a finger at her. “I will return in half an hour, to escort you to shore at the Baie des Sirenes.”

Maggie straightened so suddenly she banged her head on the upper edge of the sleeping cupboard. Fortunately, the thickness of the French braid encircling her head took most of the impact. “Baie des Sirenes?”

“Yes, that is the deepest anchorage on this part of the coast closest to the Seacombe landing. The town is insignificant, of course, but the bay, while not ideal for surface ships, is made to order for
les navires
. It will become very important to the Bourbon regime,
non,
when your papa’s plans are put into motion?”

“But of course,” she said. “
Merci,
Jean-Luc. I find myself a little fatigued at the very prospect. I will look for you in half an hour.”

He bowed himself out with every appearance of regret, and Maggie heard the key turn in the lock.

Really? He bothered with such a thing when tons of water kept her more a prisoner than any lock ever could? Ah well, no matter. She had no plans to escape now. In thirty minutes of searching, she would know everything the captain’s cabin had to tell her, and have time for a face-wash besides.

She knew the two most important things already. Claude was safe and well—though he would likely have a dreadful headache when he woke up—and their destination was the Baie des Sirenes.

The town where Mother had gone to wait for her confinement. The town where Maggie had been born.

Where there might be a graveyard that might hold a grave with two coffins in it.

*

*