Love's Rescue (8 page)

“A man might not care about the initial when the piece is made of gold and rubies,” the first mate countered.

That surprised Rourke. No mate aboard a merchant vessel made enough to afford the brooch he’d described. “Did you commission it, or is it an heirloom?”

Mr. Buetsch shuffled his feet. “No, I purchased it, but it’s mine, and it’s gone. How do I know you’re going to search thoroughly?”

Cross stepped in before the mate’s temper escalated. “With Captain O’Malley’s permission, Mr. Poppinclerk will conduct the search.”

Rourke didn’t relish the thought of Poppinclerk rummaging through his cabin. “My mate will assist him.”

Poppinclerk’s grin faded, for John was much larger and stronger.

“Very well, then,” Cross said. “We have a ship to salvage before she sinks any lower. Mr. Buetsch, ready the crew. Captain O’Malley, my men are at your disposal.”

From what John had told Rourke, the ship had settled on an outcropping. A change of wind or wave direction could send it hurtling into the deep water that ran along the outside of the reef. If that happened, they would have to abandon the wreck, along with whatever the master had gone to find and the mate’s prized brooch.

At least the ache and sweat of hard labor would shove all thoughts of Elizabeth Benjamin from his head. A wise man would forget her, but she had come back from Charleston more beautiful than the finest jewel. The time away had created a reserve in her that hadn’t been there before, but the passion could not be gone. Elizabeth Benjamin had more spirit than any woman he’d ever met. No, he could not forget her. But could he win her hand? First he must win over Charles Benjamin. And for that, he needed a healthy stake to start a business ashore.

As the sun sank low in the sky, the breeze died. Rourke’s men quickly rowed the boat across the gap between the ships. First Rourke would assess the state and quantity of cargo that could be salvaged, and then he would bring the
Windsprite
alongside for off-loading.

When the boat bumped against the wreck, Rourke scampered up the rope ladder that still dangled off the larboard side. Navigating the deck was just as tricky as during the storm. The slanted planking was still soaked and slippery as soap. Rourke used the same rescue line he’d strung earlier to keep his balance.

If the prior movement of the
Victory
’s crew was a good indicator, they had gone directly to the great cabin. Whatever they wanted was either inside it, on the deck below, or sitting on the bottom of the sea. With the chasm looming off the starboard side, it would have been easy to dispose of unwanted cargo. If that cargo had tumbled onto the reef, Rourke would find it. If it had fallen into the depths, no one would see it again.

“Don’t you want to look in the holds?” the master called out to Rourke.

“Do you have all your personal effects?” Rourke countered.

Cross nodded. “Nothing’s left in the cabins.”

Rourke would get nowhere under the man’s watch. “Good. Show the way.”

After a deckhand from the
Victory
broke open the hatch cover, Rourke heard the splash of surging water. John had correctly stated the extent of the damage. Rourke swung the lantern over the hold. Unfortunately, the master hadn’t exaggerated when he described the contents. Bolts of muslin sat atop bags of rice. The salt water had swelled the grain, causing the bags to split. Seawater lapped at the muslin.

Rourke groaned. The cloth could be salvaged, but it was a small percentage of the cargo. Unless he could discover what the master had tried to retrieve, this salvage would not set him up as a merchant.

The trunks did not arrive until after Elizabeth had bathed away the salt and was nestled in her old dressing gown. Her trunk stayed in the cookhouse since everything inside was wet. Anabelle sent the salt-stained mourning gown downstairs with Florie to add to the laundry.

Elizabeth eyed the bed. “Since I don’t have a proper gown, perhaps Cook will send supper to my room. I could sleep for days.”

“You know your father won’t stand for that.” Anabelle swung open the doors of the wardrobe.

To Elizabeth’s surprise, several of her old dresses hung inside. “I thought those were ruined. Why would my mother have them cleaned?”

“Because she’s your mama.” Anabelle riffled through the gowns until she found a deep blue dress. “This will do.”

“It’s a girl’s dress.”

“It’s dark enough.” Anabelle held it up to Elizabeth’s tall frame. “A little short, but it will suffice until your mourning gowns can be cleaned.”

Elizabeth kicked out the hem, which fell to her ankles. “I will look like a schoolgirl.” A giggle rose to her lips. For a second she was a girl again, plotting all manner of schemes with her best friend. “Shall I wear the ruffled drawers?”

Anabelle frowned at the undignified suggestion. “You’re grown now. And in mourning.”

“And not allowed a moment’s merriment.” She sighed, holding out her arms so Anabelle could slip on a chemise and tie on the required petticoats, all of which were also too short. After Anabelle tugged on the gown, she held her breath while her maid buttoned the back.

Her gaze drifted toward the open side window, where the wild tamarind’s seed pods rustled in the breeze. While the house had suffered under the storm, the tamarind still stood tall. Before the hurricane, she and Charlie would climb down its thick branches when the nights were too hot to sleep. Elizabeth had egged on Charlie, but Anabelle would never join them. Now none of them would think to do such a thing. Her brother couldn’t.

She spread her fingers across her midsection, Charlie’s cold rejection ringing in her ears. “He hates me.”

Anabelle didn’t ask who she meant. “He had no time to get used to the idea of your return.”

That wasn’t the reason, and both of them knew it. “Will he come to supper?”

“You will soon know.” Anabelle closed the top button, nearly choking Elizabeth.

She tugged at the restrictive collar. “That’s too tight. I can’t breathe.”

“You have grown in four years.”

Elizabeth reached to the back of her neck and undid the button. “That’s better.”

Anabelle scowled. “The mistress of the house can’t be seen with a button undone.”

“The mistress of the house has a dress that is too short. At least we won’t have any guests for supper since the family is in mourning.”

“Hold still.” Anabelle pulled a few strands of damp hair from the bun atop Elizabeth’s head. “That covers the button. A cap would be even better.”

“Thank goodness for the waterlogged trunk. I detest caps. They’re useful only in cold climates. They are unbearable here.”

“Sit.” Anabelle plucked a pair of shoes from the wardrobe.

Elizabeth dug her toes into the rug. The wet slippers had blistered her feet. She couldn’t bear the thought of donning shoes. “I suppose I must.” She sat on her bed and subjected her sore feet to too-small shoes.

Anabelle had just finished when Aunt Virginia stormed into the room, radiant in her gray silk gown and pearls. She took one look at Elizabeth and shook her head.

“That gown will not do, not at all, though I suppose it can’t be helped, considering everything in your trunk is ruined.”

“But not in yours, apparently.” Elizabeth recalled the mystery of the locked trunks. “I see your dress and pearls survived.”

“Thankfully, yes. The small trunk was a ghastly mess, though. The stevedores must have thrown it about, for everything was a jumble inside.”

“But everything was there?”

“Of course it was all there. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“No reason.” Elizabeth was glad that Aunt would not be able to call Rourke a thief. “I am simply grateful.”

Aunt gave her a sharp look before proceeding to the door with a sweep of her voluminous skirts. “Your father wants to see you in his study before supper.”

Elizabeth’s nerves returned. She hoped he would explain her brother’s cold reaction, but that was not his way. More likely he was angry over her rash decision to come home but hadn’t wanted to scold her in public. He might also threaten to send her back on the first ship headed to Charleston. The possibilities flitted through her mind as she descended the staircase.

His study was located at the rear of the house across from the music room, into which Charlie had vanished. The door to that room was now closed, and she could hear no sound from inside. The study door was open, however, and Father stood
behind his desk puzzling over a piece of paper. In exasperation, he tugged off the spectacles he wore for reading.

“Father?”

He looked up. “Elizabeth. Please come in. Have a seat.”

He motioned for her to choose one of the twin chairs facing each other before the cold fireplace. That feature had always been an oddity, since temperatures seldom fell low enough to require heat. She had seen it lit only a handful of times.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room, shaded by the gumbo-limbo and sea grapes, had windows only on the side due to the housing over the cistern. The shelves of law books, the ponderous furnishings, and the partially closed shutters only added to the dim light.

As a child, Elizabeth had called this the throne room. The ornate mahogany chairs upholstered in burgundy velvet looked fit for a queen. She’d often crept into the room with Anabelle to play, only to be found by Mammy and shooed away. Once, Elizabeth had insisted Anabelle sit in the other chair and play princess rather than her usual lady-in-waiting. Mammy had swatted her daughter and scolded Elizabeth so thoroughly that neither of them dared enter the study again. Elizabeth could still remember her nurse’s rebuke. “Yo’ Daddy catch you bringing da help in here, he whup yo’ behind.”

She had never quite realized that Anabelle was considered help. True, Mammy was a servant and Anabelle’s mother, but Anabelle had always been Elizabeth’s friend. They played together and slept in the same room. Anabelle learned her letters just like Elizabeth. Until that moment, she hadn’t grasped that Anabelle would one day leave the nursery to work in the cookhouse.

“One day” had arrived the next morning.

Afterward, Anabelle could play only after she finished her chores. Elizabeth’s schoolwork extended to the entire day. She only saw her friend at night when Anabelle combed out Elizabeth’s hair and slept on a cot at the foot of her bed. When nights were cold, Elizabeth would whisper for her friend to join her. Sometimes Anabelle came, but most times she refused. She would never say why.

Now the memories sifted over Elizabeth like raindrops. Above the fireplace, Mother’s portrait overlooked the room. She had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as her daughter, but she’d been petite. Elizabeth had inherited her height from Father. Mother’s gentle smile exuded a calm grace and dignity that Elizabeth hoped to emulate. She arranged her skirts in the same manner as in the portrait and folded her hands upon her lap. Then she waited.

Father set his spectacles on the desk and paced to the window. Instead of opening the slatted shutters wider to let in the breeze, he closed them. Even then he did not sit. Father seldom sat. His restless pacing had punctuated the nighttime hours for as long as she could remember. He would traverse the halls, hands behind his back and brow drawn. She’d learned many years ago never to interrupt.

He stopped at the chair opposite hers and rested his deeply veined hand on the back. Four years had changed him. His frame was thinner. Gray peppered his brown hair at the temples. His strong chin still poked from between the sideburns, but his jaw had developed jowls.

As an attorney, he never spoke in haste. Today was no different. He tapped his fingers on the chair back for some time before launching his opening volley. “I did not expect to see you arrive here in such a state.”

A stranger might assume he meant her disheveled appearance, but she knew he referred to her marital status. Father had made his expectations quite clear over the years. She was not to return to Key West except as a bride.

Elizabeth fixed her gaze on the mantel clock. “When I learned of Mother’s death, I had to return.”

“By the time you received my letter, she’d been in the grave over a month. There was no need.”

“But there is. You need me. You and Charlie.”

He waved off the sentiment as if swatting at a mosquito. “As I told you, we are doing perfectly well. If I had need, I would have summoned you.” He sat in the opposing chair, knees mere inches from hers. “You went to Charleston with but one objective—to marry well. It was your mother’s dearest wish.”

A knot formed in her throat. She’d never wanted to disappoint her mama, but marriage was so . . . final. She jutted out her chin. “I cannot marry without love.”

“Love will come with time and better acquaintance. I understand you rejected suitors after a single interview.”

“One or two. I knew at once that they were of questionable character.”

“Questionable character?” He hopped to his feet. “How can you know a man’s character? You are young and inexperienced. The wrong sort can mislead and take advantage of you.”

“I believe I have good judgment.”

His scathing look said otherwise. “I have sheltered you from the worst of society and placed you in the capable hands of your great-aunt.”