Love's Rescue (10 page)

“Thank you, Captain.” The agent headed back to the custom house, where Cross likely waited for the same tally.

Rourke hefted his canvas bag and headed for Mrs. Mallory’s boardinghouse, a reliably clean place that catered to seamen yet didn’t stand for drunkenness or brawling. A warm bath and a hot meal sure sounded good. His stomach was rumbling already for her turtle soup and tuna steaks. From the first time he’d set
foot on the island, the widow who ran the place had taken him under her wing, saying he was almost a Mallory with that last name of his. She kept his room spotless and baked his favorite lemon cake when he was in port. He played piano for the guests.

“Excuse me, Captain O’Malley.” The town marshal, Clive Wright, stepped in front of him.

“What can I do for you?” Rourke spotted two deputies approaching from opposite sides. He’d seen law enforcement surround a man often enough to get nervous.

“I’m going to need to search your bag.”

“My bag? It’s just a change of clothing and a few personal items.”

The marshal’s thick mustache didn’t move one bit. “I’m still gonna have to search it.”

Rourke knew better than to fight over something so insignificant. He didn’t have a thing of value in there. His grandmother’s wedding ring was on a leather thong around his neck. He handed the bag to the town marshal. “Go ahead.”

The man nodded to the deputy on Rourke’s right. The man wasted no time opening the bag and pulling out every piece of clothing while Wright kept one hand near his revolver, as if Rourke would pull a knife on him.

“What’s going on, Clive?” he asked.

Wright didn’t soften. “I’ve had a complaint of theft.”

“From that mate on the
Victory
, Mr. Buetsch? He claims someone took a brooch that he bought for his sweetheart, but they searched the
Windsprite
top to bottom and didn’t find a thing. If you ask me, it’s probably on the seafloor.”

“That so?”

The deputy looked up. “Nothin’ here.”

“Good. Pack the bag and hand it to Captain O’Malley.”

The deputy did as ordered.

When the man handed Rourke the bag, the town marshal let out his breath real slow. “I trust you won’t leave the island. In cases involving foreigners, we sometimes have to lock up the suspect, but I’ve known you a long time, O’Malley. I’ll take your word that you’ll stay on the island until this complaint is resolved.”

“You have it.” Rourke extended his hand, and the town marshal shook. “I sure hope you find it.”

“Me too.” Marshal Wright hitched up his trousers. “Never easy to find things that disappear off a wreck.” He stepped close. “Thought you might want to know that the master of that wreck filed a libel of salvage.”

“What?” Rourke’s temper flared. “We had an agreement.”

“These things happen. The master changes his mind once he gets ashore, especially after a lawyer gets hold of him. Get yourself a good proctor and file your response. You can be sure Judge Marvin will sort it out.”

Rourke tried to shake off a sense of foreboding. “Who is representing Captain Cross?”

“Charles Benjamin.”

That news put an abrupt halt to Rourke’s evening plans. Elizabeth’s father would never let him in the house with a case pending.

I
do hope you will heed my advice,” Aunt Virginia said as she heaped scrambled eggs and cured ham on her plate at breakfast.

Elizabeth pondered how one woman could eat so much. Even after a week ashore, Aunt still claimed the need to recover her strength. They were the only ones at the dining table. Father had gone to court early, and Charlie still hadn’t poked his head out of his room.

“Are you listening?” Aunt said sharply.

“Of course.” Elizabeth selected the smallest piece of ham and one spoonful of eggs. “You want me to heed your advice.”

“Just so. You must take charge of the servants.” Aunt grabbed two of the piping hot rolls that Cook sweetened with coconut milk and sugar cane syrup. “We can begin after breakfast with a review of the day’s duties.”

“Yes, Aunt.” In the days that had passed since her aunt’s last scolding, Elizabeth hadn’t devised a way to deal with her dictates without injuring someone’s pride. She certainly did not want to whip Anabelle or even rap her on the knuckles, but
she could think of no alternative that would both satisfy her aunt and keep peace in the household. If not Anabelle, who else could she punish? Cook had been there too long. Florie was too young. Nathan? The big groom could bear physical punishment, but she feared touching their only male servant with Father gone from the house every day.

“I have waited patiently for six days,” Aunt said between mouthfuls, “but you have done nothing to take control. You spend all your time flitting about town on this errand and that with nothing to show for it.”

Elizabeth could not admit she kept watch for the
Windsprite
. Yet as of yesterday noon, the sloop had not arrived. The remainder of her days had been occupied with a review of “social betterment,” as Aunt put it. Proper tea service, embroidery, and even piano lessons were again attempted, despite the utter lack of aptitude Elizabeth had already displayed in Charleston. By the time she had murdered three jigs and a sonata, even Aunt Virginia admitted defeat.

“Put the music away,” she had advised, holding a handkerchief to her forehead, “before I perish of a headache and the neighbors pray to go deaf.”

Elizabeth wished Aunt had never made Nathan roll the piano into the parlor. After yesterday’s torture, she hoped her aunt would ask him to take it back to Charlie’s room, the former music room, but she’d descended the stairs this morning to find it still in place.

“Are you listening, Elizabeth?” Aunt pulled her out of her thoughts. “You must tell Florie to polish the silver.”

“But she just did it on Monday.”

“That makes no matter. The silver must be polished and the furniture oiled.” Aunt’s cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled.

Elizabeth groaned. Only one thing gave her aunt this much delight—matchmaking.

Aunt leaned as far forward as her girth would admit. “We are to have a distinguished guest for supper.” She let that tantalizing morsel hang.

Rourke’s name rose to Elizabeth’s tongue, but she had the wisdom to keep it there. “We are in mourning. Wouldn’t a supper guest be unwise?”

“Nonsense.” Aunt settled back and lifted her teacup. “In such a provincial backwater, the rules might be eased, particularly when the caller is connected to the family.”

“The family? There is no one else in Key West related to us. Has Uncle Jonathan journeyed here?”

“Of course not. I meant that he is connected in a broad sense.” Aunt glanced around the room. “In addition to the silver, have Florie wash the crystal. I will accompany Cook to market. There will be no repeat of last week’s debacle.”

Elizabeth slowly breathed out. Aunt Virginia never left the house. Her departure would bring unexpected freedom. For perhaps an hour, she could do as she wished in her own home. The thought made her giddy.

Aunt leaned close again. “Are you not curious who our guest might be?”

“The judge, I suppose, or one of Father’s attorney friends. You did say he is of some importance.”

“Yes, he is important.” Aunt sat back with a smug smile. “Enough so that your brother has promised to join us.”

“He has?” The first tingle of nerves hit Elizabeth’s stomach, and the ham no longer appealed. She pushed away the plate.

“Even your brother recognizes the significance of this visitor,” Aunt said.

“Is it a doctor? Is it someone who can help Charlie?”

“A physician?” Aunt scoffed. “This guest is not coming for your brother’s benefit, my dear, he is here for you.”

Elizabeth’s last hope vanished.

With a satisfied nod, Aunt declared, “Mr. Finch will join us.”

The attorney that Rourke had hired to serve as his proctor was taking too long to finish the deposition. The man was thorough, but by the time he finished, the opportunity to call on Elizabeth would be lost. Charles Benjamin would not stay away from home all day when court wasn’t in session. Since Benjamin’s office was open for business this morning, Rourke figured he had until noon. Time was slipping away.

Rourke eyed the late morning sun through the grimy window of the cramped office. William Winston, Esq., did business in a tiny room on Duval Street so full of books and papers and dust Rourke could barely turn around.

Winston’s chair creaked when he leaned back and rubbed his forehead. “I’ve had enough experience with these cases to get a feel for how Judge Marvin will rule.” He patted his stained serge waistcoat until he came up with a pince-nez. He placed it on his nose and pointed to something on the complaint that Captain Cross had filed. “This statement worries me. The master seems to be saying that you knew the pilot and had some prior agreement with him.”

“I told you already that I know Mr. Poppinclerk. What master in Key West doesn’t? The man parades himself about town in that gig of his, yet he couldn’t navigate a pond.”

Winston shook his head. “You can’t say that. It’s defamation. State only the facts.”

“That is a fact.”

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear. Stick to what happened. Did you know he was piloting the, uh”—he checked his notes—“
Victory
?”

Rourke frowned. The man couldn’t even remember the wreck’s name? Maybe he should have waited until one of the top attorneys could see him. “Of course I didn’t know Mr. Poppinclerk was the pilot. The first time I saw him was when he came across in the ship’s boat. Captain Cross knows all this. He was there.”

“That is not what he stated in his deposition.” Winston set down the pince-nez and reached for his pipe.

“I don’t care what Captain Cross said. I’m telling you the truth. You make it sound like Cross is saying I conspired with Poppinclerk to run the ship onto the reef.”

“That’s one way to read it.” Winston slowly removed a pinch of tobacco from his tobacco jar and deposited it in the bowl of the pipe. Only after tamping it down did he continue. “It’s our job to ensure your deposition makes it clear that you did not confer with the pilot prior to his taking on the
Victory
.”

“How could I? We were on different ships.”

Winston grunted. “You already said you know each other. Cross would say you met beforehand and agreed to wreck the next ship he piloted.”

“That’s ridiculous. I haven’t talked to Mr. Poppinclerk in a month. I’ve been at sea.”

“Hmm.” Winston peered at his notes. “Apparently the pilot boarded the ship at Fort Dallas, where the
Victory
took on supplies. Did you see Mr. Poppinclerk there?”

“No, I’ve never been to Fort Dallas.” The tiny port on the mainland was a mosquito-infested swamp from what Rourke had heard. “No reason to.”

“You could have met before Mr. Poppinclerk arrived at Fort Dallas.”

“I already told you I haven’t spoken to him in a month.” Rourke fidgeted in the chair, unaccustomed to sitting such a length of time and anxious to get this done. “When did he go there?”

Winston examined the complaint again. “It doesn’t say.”

“Then all we need to find out is if he left Key West while I was at sea. That would put an end to this talk of conspiracy over grounding the
Victory
. If Mr. Poppinclerk sailed that ship onto the reef, he did so on his own.”

Winston drew his bushy brows together. “Do you have reason to believe Mr. Poppinclerk deliberately grounded the ship?”

Rourke would not leap that far. “If he wasn’t generally known as a poor navigator and if not for the storm, I might have thought that. But no, I don’t have any proof of wrongdoing.”

“Hmm, then we’ll keep a wide berth on that one. One more question. Had you ever seen Mr. Buetsch before arriving at the wrecked ship?”

“No. Never. Does this have to do with the brooch he said he lost? I never saw it. When he made the claim, I let him search my ship. Nothing was found. Mr. Wright’s deputies didn’t find anything in my belongings either.”

“Good.” Winston puffed on his pipe, wrapping the office in a mellow scent. He might not spend money on his attire, but he didn’t scrimp on tobacco.

“From Havana?” Rourke asked, pointing to the tobacco jar.

“As a matter of fact, this is Carolina tobacco. I’m hoping the bales you brought in are similar quality.” He set down the pipe. “They’ll fetch a good price. That’s probably why Cross is contesting your agreement. He doesn’t want to lose his share.”

“Maybe.” But Rourke had a bad feeling about this. “He chose Charles Benjamin for his proctor rather than Mallory.” They both knew that Stephen Mallory, son of the lady who ran the boardinghouse, had greater prestige thanks to his family’s long-standing presence in Key West and his political connections.

Winston nodded. “Keeping it in the family, I understand. The
Victory
is owned by the late Mrs. Benjamin’s brother.”

Now Rourke knew the source of his foreboding. Benjamin always fought hard in court, but he would never give up when it involved family.

Winston looked him in the eye. “If this goes the way I think and a charge of collusion is leveled, you will need witnesses to corroborate your testimony. Choose the most respected men on your vessel—preferably United States citizens—and ensure they stay in town.”

Rourke’s mouth felt coated in sawdust. His mate was a Bahamian free black. The boatswain was a reformed drunkard. None of his men had the clout to counter the testimonies of Poppinclerk and the
Victory
’s officers. If Winston was right, Rourke stood to lose his wrecking license.

As soon as Aunt Virginia left for the market with Cook, Elizabeth settled on the shaded front veranda with a book of sonnets. The meeting with the staff had been painful, and she longed to escape to the far shore of the island where no one would tell her what to do. Since going anywhere unescorted was out of the question and Anabelle was busy oiling the furniture, Shakespeare would have to do. Yet she could not bring herself to read. Instead she leaned back on the rocker and closed her eyes with a deep sigh.

“Aunt Virginia isn’t always right.”

Charlie’s voice startled her from near slumber. She looked around until she spotted his wheeled chair in the open parlor window. “I didn’t know you were there.”

His lips curved into a wry grin. “I heard your entire display of tyranny. Nathan couldn’t very well push me back to my room when Aunt V demanded all the servants line up in the dining room.”