Moon Dreams (16 page)

Alyson clasped her hands together and settled into the
nearest chair. “May I see it, please? What does Mr. Farnley have to say?”

“He did much better than merely sending you a letter. A lady
of your consequence shouldn’t be so shabbily treated. No, he has sent a
personal representative to see to your safety. I have made arrangements for you
to meet with him this afternoon.”

A personal representative? Alyson’s hopes sank. She didn’t
need someone to hold her hand. She had grown accustomed to doing things her own
way these last few months. A “personal representative” sounded very much like
some officious aide who would insist on things being done properly—his way.

Clenching her fingers, Alyson asked the question that
bothered her most. “And the
Sea Witch
? Has aught been heard of her? I
promised Captain Maclean . . . He was to tell me which ships
would be the safest to return on.”

Lattimer frowned. “Captain Maclean is a smuggler and quite
possibly a privateer, my lady. He cannot be relied upon to keep schedules. He’s
an excellent young man, but his occupation leads him into dangerous waters. He
could be chasing an unsuspecting frigate or at the bottom of the ocean. I’m
sure you can rely on Mr. Farnley’s representative. The
Neptune
is an
excellent vessel. I should think that would be the one to choose.”

Alyson hid her anguish behind a vague smile. “Of course, Mr.
Lattimer. Does Mr. Farnley send me a letter? I shall need to reimburse you for
your trouble.”

“That will be discussed this afternoon. Shall we dine now,
my lady?”

Alyson picked nervously at her meal. Why hadn’t Mr. Lattimer
brought this “representative” with him? Waiting did not help her state of
indecision. She wanted to know what had happened to Rory. Surely, if his ship
had gone down, news of it would have come to Charleston?

Why couldn’t her visions come to her when she needed them?

And then she realized—if the vision she had of Rory and
herself were to come true, he had to be alive! Sooner or later, Rory would come
after her.

Strangely relieved, she hurried to prepare herself for her
meeting with Mr. Farnley’s representative later that afternoon.

She entered the office on Mr. Lattimer’s arm, and a
gentleman in a drab brown coat rose and scraped a bow. Alyson studied his
nearsighted gaze and the ink-stained calluses of his hand and decided this must
be one of Mr. Farnley’s clerks. He would make a dull companion, but she doubted
that he would send her to her cabin and order her to stay there.

As usual, she paid little heed to the conversation. Apparently
Mr. Farnley had sent his clerk instead of a letter, but Mr. Lattimer seemed
pleased with the arrangements. Since no one handed her a purse of gold, they apparently
thought her too stupid to deal with the financial details of her journey. She
didn’t attempt to disillusion them. She was learning the advantage of letting
men think themselves superior.

When it became apparent they waited for a reply, Alyson
offered a faint smile. “I’m sorry. My mind wandered. What were you saying?”

She bit back a bubble of laughter at the smug look on their
faces. Rory wouldn’t have put up with her vagary for a minute. She had confused
him on a few occasions, but he was quick to learn and too sharp by far. He had
a way of making her listen, or perhaps she just enjoyed listening to him. She would
miss him on this journey home.

“Mr. Clive would like to show you the cabin that has been
reserved for you on board the
Neptune
to see if it meets with your
approval. The vessel is part of your grandfather’s shipping line, and they will
make any changes you request, but after making this extra stop, they are behind
schedule. If you would go with Mr. Clive, I can send someone to pack your
things. You could be off on the evening tide.”

Alarmed by this sudden rush, Alyson instinctively drew back.
“I must have a maid. And there are several gowns yet to be finished at the
mantua-maker’s. I cannot possibly leave in so short a time.”

Mr. Lattimer spoke with suppressed impatience. “Lady Alyson,
far be it from me to give you advice, but it seems in your best interest if you
journeyed on your own ship. Your gowns can be sent at a later date, and a maid
has already been hired. Mr. Farnley is quite efficient.”

He was quite right about that. Too damned efficient, if
anyone asked her, but she could see they had no desire to hear her opinions. At
least this time she could leave with some decorum instead of running off at
midnight in a public coach or being thrown over the shoulder of a pirate.

With a mild look of reproof, she took Mr. Clive’s skinny
arm, nodded her head to Mr. Lattimer, and allowed herself to be escorted to the
river to approve the cabin that would carry her home.

The wharf still fascinated her, but Alyson tried not to be
distracted. Her ship was difficult to miss with the head of Neptune bulging
from the stern. The ship was nearly as large as a frigate, much larger than
Rory’s sloop. Alyson strained to see the crow’s nest on the mainmast.

Too large to dock at the wharf, the
Neptune
waited in
the deeper part of the river channel. Alyson nervously joined the seamen in the
little dinghy waiting for her. The heat of the July sun off the water caused
her head to ache. Closing her eyelids, she rested her hand on her forehead, and
the brilliant summer’s day faded.

The gray mists in her mind parted, and instead of the
formidable
Neptune
, she saw Rory standing at the bow of his ship, his
hand shading his eyes as he gazed over a distant water. She recognized the
eager impatience with which he shoved aside the spyglass someone handed to him.
He looked ready to jump from the ship and swim for shore.

The next vision came and went much faster, leaving a sense
of horror and bewilderment. Cranville! He seemed much changed, worried, instead
of so arrogantly self-confident. But just the sight of him shivered her with
fear. He didn’t appear to be in prison.

Alyson blinked, looked up, and found herself already on
board the
Neptune.
She could not shake the alarming vision of Cranville,
and she met the captain’s greeting with only a vague recognition of the
introduction.

Mr. Clive gestured dismissively, and the captain bowed and
walked off. Alyson felt only the cold chill of apprehension and glanced toward
the railing. The familiar sight of Charleston seemed a million miles out of her
reach.

“I want to return to shore,” she announced.

Clive looked startled, then patted her hand reassuringly. “Of
course, my lady. Just let me show you to your cabin. If there are changes that
need to be made, we can order them before we go back into town.”

That seemed reasonable. At least he wasn’t arguing with her.
She was still free to leave if she wished. Maybe she would just order the ship
to leave without her. She ought to have the authority to do that. The only
problem was that Mr. Farnley apparently hadn’t sent a bank draft. She had a few
coins left, but not many. She couldn’t wait too long for another ship.

The cabin Clive led her to had to be the captain’s cabin.
She could see where his personal pictures must once have hung upon the wall,
and she wondered what he used for a desk now that the only one was hers. She
ran her fingers over the disfigured wood. The captain had a bad habit of
slamming hard objects when angry, she surmised from the dents upon the surface.
The bunk had no curtains, but the heavy duvet looked comfortable. A braided rug
lay between the bunk and a brazier. She would not need Rory to keep her warm in
luxury such as this.

That thought depressed her, and she dismissed it by turning
to Clive. “I must thank the captain for his sacrifice. You mentioned a maid?”

“Yes, my lady.” He made a servile bow. “I will fetch her.
Just one moment, my lady.”

The minute he left her alone, Alyson left the cabin. Her
visions were uncontrollable and usually illogical, but she was not overly given
to logic. Instinct told her there was danger, but she did not know if it was
for her or for Rory or for both. For all she knew, Cranville could be the one
in trouble, but this ship held a clue. It was her proximity to this ship that
set off the alarms. She wasn’t going anywhere on it until she knew it from stem
to stern.

Not that she knew where stem or stern were. She simply
wandered wherever her feet took her. Obviously a goodly portion of the crew had
been given shore leave until the tide turned. The few men she met stared at her
when she smiled at them in greeting.

She found the galley and the hold but did not venture below.
What she was searching for wouldn’t be with the cargo. She hadn’t found any
sign of Clive or a maid or the captain, she realized. Perhaps she ought to
return to her cabin to see if they were there.

This vague uneasiness brought her back to the companionway
between the officers’ quarters, and it was there that she heard the voices. One
particular voice struck fear in her heart. It couldn’t be! Cranville couldn’t
be here!

Another voice interrupted, and she couldn’t be certain she
had heard right. How could Cranville be here? Her letter had warned Mr. Farnley
of his treachery. Mr. Farnley would never have sent her cousin for her. She was
overwrought and nervous and dodging at shadows.

“No, I’ll surprise the girl when we sail. She’s likely to
take exception to my presence, actually. She’ll blame me for her abduction, I
daresay, so I won’t be high on her list of people to see. But I’ll not rest
easy until I see her safe home again. She’s a bit lacking in the upper story,
but she’ll come around eventually, they always do. You’ve seen her, Captain.
Don’t you think she’s worth the trouble? Once you marry us, I’ll have my cabin
back again.”

Cranville’s laugh was unmistakable.

Rory’s weathered visage grew more grim as
Sea Witch
sailed up the river toward Charleston.
Dougall sent him a wary look. If the captain’s black temper grew any worse, he
would have a mutiny on his hands.

No one in particular could be blamed for the disastrous
delays that had destroyed the captain’s usually calm demeanor. Sudden squalls
followed by days of no wind at all had impeded their progress throughout the
journey. Any seaman knew to expect that, although they had run into more than
their fair share.

The mix-up at the docks could be blamed on an incompetent
clerk, Dougall supposed, but it wouldn’t bring back the days lost while waiting
to unload. And they had sailed without their full shipment of molasses because
Rory had grown tired of the planters’ incessant delays.

They lost even more time avoiding a British frigate guarding
the port where they had meant to sell the cargo. Another meeting place had to
be arranged, with subsequent delays, although they had unloaded the molasses
faster than Dougall thought humanly possible. Still, Rory hadn’t been
satisfied. He had been pacing that deck for days now, his temper growing ever
shorter.

True, they should have been back by the end of June and not
the end of July. But Dougall had thought they ought to be happy to be back at
all. He had expected Rory to be grinning from ear to ear at the prospect of
seeing the little lass again. He certainly wouldn’t mind seeing that dreamy
smile, even if she had played him for a fool. Anything could be forgiven for a
smile like that.

Instead, another string of curses rang out from the bridge,
and Dougall glanced up to see what new calamity had befallen them. He groaned
at the sight of the British merchant filling the narrow channel as it righted
itself in preparation for sailing. The tide would turn shortly. The
Sea
Witch
ran with it now, but if they had to wait for the big ship to embark
before they could anchor, it would be hours before they could reach shore.
Dougall discreetly removed himself to a task on a lower deck, out of range of
Rory’s fury.

***

Alyson raced to the
Neptune’s
rail, but not to safety. No convenient gangplank led to shore. No rowboat
awaited her return. She had only minutes before they discovered her missing.

She searched for some way down to the water, but even if she
could figure out how to lower a dinghy, the chances of rowing it to shore by
herself were slim.

All the local fishing boats were out to sea, except those
too derelict to sail. Heart pounding in terror, she hunted for a workman on one
of the derelicts who might row out, but her screams would more likely attract
Cranville than anyone on land.

Footsteps climbed the stairs. She dropped behind a water
barrel in the shadow of the bulkhead.

Perhaps if she could find the captain . . .
Surely if she owned this ship the captain would have to obey her.

But instinct and experience warned that the captain would
believe Cranville before her. Calling on the captain would be her last
desperate measure.

She listened as the footsteps turned toward the stern, and
she scuttled in the opposite direction. The
Neptune
was large. How long could she hide?

Alyson cursed her wide petticoats as they caught on
splintery barrel staves. Her high kid heels were a nuisance, too, but if she
removed them, she would be walking on her skirts. She cursed her conceit in
wearing the fashionable gown.

From the bow, she scanned the incoming river, and her hopes
soared. A ship, larger than a fishing craft! Seamen were scurrying about the
masts, trimming the sails in preparation for anchoring, but it was coming this
way. All she had to do was make them understand she needed rescuing.

Alyson bit back a groan of dismay. Why should that tiny sloop
dare defy a British vessel of this massive size? Even if she should make it
clear that she needed help, what could they possibly do?

Knowing she would have no escape from Cranville if she
allowed the
Neptune
to sail with her
on it, Alyson bit her lip and dashed for the railing. She would do whatever it
took.