Redeeming the Rogue (43 page)

Rafferty left the deck and headed for the captain’s quarters. He opened the cabin door to a large, comfortable sitting room.

“Rafferty!” Mrs. Briggs dropped her sewing in her lap. “What are you—?”

Rafferty put his finger to his lips, urging her to be quiet. He drew close to her. “Find a life jacket and go to the stern,” he murmured.

“But what of Charles?”

“I’ll send him in a moment, now go!”

Mrs. Briggs disappeared down the passageway. The door that separated this section from the more public rooms clicked behind her. Good. One less to worry about. He took a moment to load his revolver, then slipped it in his back waistband. Leading with the point of his rifle, he warily headed into the passageway that led to the wheelhouse.

As soon as he opened the door, bullets rained down the passageway. Rafferty pulled back into the captain’s quarters.

“Mr. Rafferty,” a familiar voice called. “What good fortune to have you aboard. I thought you’d still be in a jail cell.”

“Diplomatic immunity, Evans, or had you forgotten?” Rafferty scanned the room, looking for another way out. The sitting room had an outside door that led to small deck. If he remembered correctly, the deck tied to the outside steps that led up to the wheelhouse.

“Is your pretty little wife with you? Lady Arianne? A passionate little number, that piece of skirt. I heard the two of you. The whole bloody house did.”

He was trying to bait him to come out into the passageway. If he kept on about Arianne, it might work.

“Briggs, are you all right?” Rafferty called, trying the outside door. It hadn’t been used for years. Briggs always complained that it made his quarters cold and was unnecessary. Well, it was necessary now. It resisted his first tug, holding its seal.

“So far,” Briggs replied. “Don’t let Jane come up.”

He tried again. This time the door opened, allowing him to step out on the deck. The
Irish Rose
had cleared the harbor and was heading for the middle of the bay. Rafferty crept to the end of the deck, then climbed the exterior stairs. He crouched low to stay out of sight.

He chanced a look through the windows. Evans still watched the passageway. Briggs stood at the wheel, guiding the ship into deeper water. He spotted Rafferty and motioned for him to stay down.

“What are you doing?” he heard Evans snarl.

“We’re losing pressure,” Briggs answered. “I’m sending a signal down to the boiler room.”

“Make it quick.”

Now that Briggs had mentioned it, the
Irish Rose
wasn’t forging ahead with her earlier power. A good sign that Ben had gotten the engine crew to the stern lifeboats. The controls for the engine room were located next to the bridge door. Briggs pushed it open while moving the levers to signal for more steam. Rafferty took advantage, stood, and aimed his rifle.

“Put your hands up, Evans.”

Evans had one gun aimed down the passageway and another aimed at Briggs. “Don’t threaten me. You’ll lose the good captain.” His lips turned up at the corners. He shifted one gun from the passageway to Rafferty. “I see you found me guns. Did you find me money as well?”

“
Your
guns? I thought you were behind the Garfield . . .” Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. There was only one person who would orchestrate both the smuggling and the assassination attempt. “Toomey,” Rafferty said. “It is you, isn’t it?”

“In the flesh, lad.” He grinned. “And let me say what a pleasure it has been using your ship to transport the means for an uprising the likes of which have never been seen. Heads will roll. Blood will be shed. Hopefully, Ireland will be free, but I’ll be a rich man either way.”

“Rich? This isn’t just about home rule?”

“The Americans are a generous people. I’ve collected enough for guns and a bit more for my efforts.”

“What about the bombings? Was that for profit as well? Or for the blood in the streets?” Rafferty asked. He should just shoot the bloody bastard, but Briggs was still in Toomey’s sights.

“Ack. I’m sorry about your family, lad. It wasn’t personal. They were causalities of war. But you . . . your demise will be sweet. You, I take personal.”

Briggs made a quick lunge. Toomey fired and ran down the stairs. Rafferty fired as well, but too late. Footfalls pounded the passageway. Rafferty dashed over to Briggs. “Are you hurt?”

“He got my arm.”

Rafferty took a look. Blood seeped from Briggs’s arm but didn’t pump in a gushing flow. “Do you keep medical supplies about?”

“In the kitchen, but I’m not sure where.”

Rafferty got him to his feet. With Rafferty in the lead, they followed the passageway to the dining saloon. Rafferty grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the sideboard and poured it on the wound.

Briggs hissed between his teeth. “Waste of good whiskey.”

“The burn will do you good, old man,” Rafferty said. He grabbed some dinner napkins from a drawer and fashioned a bandage. “You’ll be able to impress the ladies with your scar,” he said while wrapping the bandage on his arm.

“Only Jane,” Briggs replied.

Rafferty handed him the loaded revolver. “Now take this and find your wife. I’ve sent everyone to the stern lifeboats. Once you’re in, cast away. Get as far away from the boat as you can.”

“What about you?” Briggs asked.

“Toomey’s not going to get away again, and his guns aren’t going to make port. It’s personal between us.” He smiled and extended his hand to Briggs. “You’ve been a good friend. I’m glad you found Mrs. Summers in your sunset years. Living to be lonely is no life, I’m thinking.”

Briggs shook his hand. “I’m proud of you, lad, but don’t be stupid. Get off the
Rose
as soon as you can.”

“Aye, that I will.” Rafferty grabbed a couple of napkins and his rifle, then started after Toomey.

For a small steamer, the
Irish Rose
was too big to search for a single man floor by floor. Rafferty had the advantage of knowing the ship inside and out. He figured Toomey had three choices: the guns, the money, or a lifeboat. If he were Toomey, he’d go for the money first.

Rafferty took the stairs cautiously, descending into the belly of the ship, mindful that a bullet could fly at his ears at any time.

As he approached the hold, he could hear Toomey talking to himself. “Which one, which one. Here it is. Miss Mary O’Sullivan.” A light shone from the hold; he must have taken a lamp in there with him. Then he heard the sound of prying wood. A sound he was very familiar with after having opened so many coffins himself.

Rafferty struck a match and lit the cloth napkin until it crackled. He threw the rifle into the passageway, followed by the flaming napkin. Then ran like the devil himself up the steps. He cleared his way to the top deck and was running toward the rail when the cargo in the hold exploded. He was propelled into the air, over the rail, and into the peaceful waters of the Chesapeake Bay.

ARIANNE WAS STANDING BY THE EMPTY BERTH IN the Baltimore Harbor when she heard the explosion. Everyone stopped and looked toward the horizon, toward a distant plume of black smoke. “Phineas!” she said, alarm catching in her throat. “What was that?”

He shook his head. His Adam’s apple rose and fell, then he turned toward her, desolation in his eyes. “Maybe he wasn’t on board.”

But they both knew. If the
Irish Rose
had indeed left without Rafferty, he’d be standing right there beside them. Given the time the
Rose
had departed, the ship should have been in the vicinity of that explosion. For anyone on board that vessel, the likelihood of survival was slim.

Her heart fell to the bottom of her rib cage. Her throat constricted. Breathing the hot July air was nearly impossible. Her vision became unfocused. He couldn’t be gone. Not Rafferty, not...

Her world turned black.

Vile ammonia fumes burned a path up her nostrils, waking her with a start. Phineas knelt beside her, patting a moist cloth to her cheeks. He smiled. “Better now?”

“What happened?” She was sitting on the ground, propped against the wall on the shady side of the customs building.

“You fainted, most likely from the heat . . . and the shock.”

The shock. Oh yes, she remembered that. Rafferty was gone. She was better off unconscious.

A man on a high platform with an expanded telescope called out. “There’s a boat! Two boats! No, three lifeboats!”

Survivors! With Phineas’s help, she scrambled to her feet. Dear Lord, let Rafferty be safe.

 

TWO HOURS PASSED BEFORE THE LIFEBOATS WERE TOWED back to the harbor. The tugboat,
Shadow
, had set out immediately to search for survivors. After transferring the passengers and crew from the lifeboats, the tug’s captain had surveyed the explosion area looking for more survivors—one in particular—but none were found.

Arianne studied the passengers on the deck of the
Shadow
as it pulled into port. Spotting Mrs. Summers immediately, she raced to her old chaperone as soon as the passengers were released. If anyone would know if Rafferty survived, she would. Even before Arianne could ask, however, she knew the answer by the red-rimmed eyes of her friend. Rafferty had not been found. He had saved them all by getting them to lifeboats in time to escape the blast, she said, but he himself was not so fortunate.

As Phineas noted, neither was Toomey. He’d learned in New York that Evans and Mary O’Shay’s gentleman friend were one and the same. Captain Briggs confirmed it when he told his version of the events. Rafferty had temporarily saved England from a violent uprising and satisfied his own goal of revenge for Toomey at the cost of his own life.

The consolation offered by her chaperone, that Rafferty had spoken of his love for Arianne, was of little comfort. She knew he loved her. It was the reason he let her go.

She had been so miserable yesterday without him. William wanted her to pack to return to London, but everywhere she turned she was beset by memories. His words replayed in her mind.
This is your home. This is sanctuary.
Suddenly, it occurred to her that he wasn’t speaking of the legation, he was speaking of himself. And he was right. Rafferty was her sanctuary. It didn’t matter if he had a title. It didn’t matter if he had property. She loved him for him alone. When Phineas returned from New York, she insisted he take her with him to the harbor, but the
Irish Rose
had already sailed.

Now Rafferty would never know how much she loved him. He would go to his eternal rest believing he wasn’t good enough—which was so very, very wrong. He was the best man she knew, would ever know. She’d been a fool not to marry him. She’d been a fool to believe property was as important as the possibility of living with the one you love. She’d been a fool with no hope of redemption.

 

A MONTH LATER, ARIANNE STILL WORE BLACK.

William had tried to convince her that she was not a widow. Two weeks was ample time to be buried beneath oppressive black veils. No man would approach her while she was in such deep mourning.

What he failed to understand was that she didn’t particularly want anyone to approach her. She didn’t wish to speak to anyone. She didn’t care to witness the enthusiasm of the other passengers embarking on a trip to London. She didn’t want to think at all about her wardrobe, or her manners, or her brother, or her life for that matter. She’d lost Rafferty without any hope of ever seeing him again. She’d never hear his soft brogue in her ear or hear his talk of selkies and mermaids. She’d lost everything in life that mattered.

William thought that as long as she planned to shut herself away in isolation from the world, she might as well do it in London instead of swamp-ridden Washington. It didn’t matter to her. Nothing mattered to her. Kathleen packed her clothes away in trunks. William sent a cable to Lord Henderson that they were leaving, and suddenly they were on this ship, this four-stack new luxury liner, bound for England.

William even booked passage for Mr. and Mrs. Briggs in hopes that Mrs. Briggs could lift her spirits. Arianne could have told him the futility of that occurrence. There was only one thing that sparked her interest on this voyage. She wanted to have the opportunity to say good-bye to Rafferty.

She stood at the rail as the liner left the harbor. Amazing how the water no longer held a claim on her. Without an inclination to live, she had nothing to fear in death. She brought a bouquet of forget-me-nots laced with ivy sprigs. Touching the delicate blue flowers, she remembered the night Rafferty wore them on his lapel to her state dinner. Did he know then that the flowers meant true love? She remembered chuckling to herself, thinking how inappropriate he looked—yet she was the inappropriate one. Even then they were fated to be together. She’d just been too caught up in class issues to recognize it. A tear gathered in her eye, and she brushed it away. She hoped Rafferty would recognize the sprigs of ivy as the symbol for matrimony so he’d know, if he could see such things, that she had said yes to his proposal.