Sea of Fire (4 page)

Elizabeth stared at the pot. “Aye. It would be nice.” Something made the pot feel heavier. She was going to find out what exactly it was. God in heaven! Something had to make sense.

Forty-five minutes later, she was soaking in a steamy, lavender scented bath, sipping a cup of tea. The heat from the bath and tea relaxed her so, she set the cup aside on a nearby table, leaned back in the tub and closed her eyes.

She considered Adam. She never should have trusted him, and how she misjudged him. Ha! He loved her. Sure. She got as close to the sentiment as she cared to do. She reached for her tea, took a sip and returned the cup to the table. Hatred was more in order now. She considered Christian Traynor with his dark hair and unusual amber-colored eyes. The man definitely had appeal. She’d grant him the fact, but she’d fallen for his brother’s charms. She’d not make the mistake again even if the only way to learn about her father was with his help. Perhaps it would be better to hire someone to find her father, but would this be misconstrued as going to the authorities? Probably. If Adam was truly Christian’s brother as he claimed, he’d have as legitimate a concern as she had.

She sighed. So many questions—not one answer. She poured the last of the liquid from the teapot into her cup and ran her fingers along the base of the vessel. Next, she tapped on it and tried to twist the bottom from the body of the teapot. Nothing happened. Disgusted, she meant to set the teapot back in place, but misjudged and banged the very base she had examined, against the side of the metal tub. Tapped exactly the correct way, the bottom and its contents dropped into the water, causing several splashes to hit her in the face. She tossed the body of the teapot away from her. It landed on the bed.

With both hands, she searched beneath the surface and quickly found the objects. She held her hands open and examined her find. “God Almighty,” she softly said aloud in instant recognition. “I’ve got to get rid of these.”

Chapter Three

“Can you tell me the last time Adam was here?” Christian asked, exercising tremendous patience as he spoke with the pear-shaped headmaster of the Wayward Orphanage. He prided himself on being a tolerant person but, Christ, it took the man ten minutes to recall who he was even talking about in the first place. How did anything get done around the orphanage? No matter. He’d stay all day, talking to whomever he had to in order to get the tiniest crumb of a clue if it led to Adam.

“Let me think. Perhaps it was February. Nay.” The headmaster paused to fiddle with the chain on his pocket watch. “Nay. I believe it was more like the end of January.”

“You haven’t seen Adam since. Is that right?”

“That’s correct. I showed him around the different wings. He was quite pleased with our organization. Most of the other orphan houses are simply holding grounds for the children. Here we truly try to find them a home.” He folded his hands in front of him on the desk, proud as a peacock. “Now, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying the others are wrong. I’m just saying we go a step further.”

Christian smiled. “Did my brother say where he was going by any chance, or when he would return?”

“Nay. He didn’t. I am surprised he has not returned for another visit. The children miss him.”

“Thanks for your time. I know you’re a busy man.”

Christian rose from the ladder-back chair in the man’s small office.

“It was a pleasure,” the plump man replied, walking over to hold out his hand to Christian.

Christian shook his hand. “Good morn,” he said and saw himself from the building.

He admired his brother for the time and effort spent with Dublin’s poor, although tending orphanages wasn’t something he was ever compelled to do. While Adam took after their grandfather, he was like their father, being more adventuresome in nature. Christian believed his own contribution to society lay in giving work to as many as possible on his shipping line that ran from Sligo, Ireland to America. Sure, it wasn’t as righteous a calling as Adam’s, but it served a need. Oft times, as space permitted, his ships carried precious cargo such as medicines and food free of charge if they were used to help the less fortunate.

Another journey, scheduled to depart in several weeks with him as captain, was unlikely now. His crew surpassed the best, and had easily handled the route in the past without him. That wasn’t a concern; however, he needed to sail with his next ship by mid-April, because a lucrative business arrangement awaited him in Florida.

What about his mistress, Mary Margaret, though? He disliked being gone too long from her warm, curvy shape. He smiled. If he were gone too long, she’d come after him. He liked the wench, despite her possessiveness at times. She was sprightly and a good bed partner.

His family kept encouraging him to find a bride and settle down, but his argument always was the same. When he found a woman he couldn’t live without, he would marry her. As for Mary Margaret, the two had an agreement She knew they’d never wed and understood this. Still, he’d been in Dublin less than a week and was missing her, but was it truly Mary Margaret, or her desirable body? Ah, perhaps it was a bit of both.

He checked his pocket watch. Mid-morning. No need to bother stopping at any of the clubs to question his brother’s friends yet again. Most of them would still be asleep.

He started walking along Sackville Street, uncertain of where he was headed, when a woman with auburn ringlets hanging out from beneath the hood of her cloak caught his attention from across the street. No sooner had he observed her, than he recognized the woman as Elizabeth Corry. She hesitated a moment, unaware of his attention, before she rushed inside Godfrey’s Silversmith Shop.

What was the woman up to after so recently receiving the distressing news she had? He doubted she had been completely truthful with him. Curious, he crossed the street and casually stopped to the side of the shop window, pretending to study the items exhibited. He glanced from a pair of circular bowl-shaped salt cellars towards the inside of the small shop and saw Elizabeth talking to a man who apparently was the proprietor. Hell, he looked young to be the owner. Still, she handed the light-haired man a drum-shaped silver teapot, removed its base with a tap against the counter, and next tugged something from the embroidered muff she carried. The man stared at the object in her hand. His face lit up with first surprise and almost instantly changed to express resentment. He slammed the teapot down onto the counter, motioned to a door which led to a back area, and the two walked through it.

Intrigued, Christian pulled open the door. A bell softly tinkled as he entered and shut the door behind him. He was admiring the workmanship on several candlesticks on a shelf to the side of the counter when the man instantly scurried back into the shop front.

“Good morn,” the man said. “I’m Roderick Godfrey— the silversmith and owner.”

“Good morn. You do nice work,” Christian said, noting that face to face the man wasn’t as young as he first appeared. Lines creased his forehead and the corners of his blue eyes.

“Can I be helping you to find anything in particular?” Roderick Godfrey asked.

“Actually, I was hoping to find a new teapot for my mother.” Christian scanned the room and pretended to notice for the first time the teapot and its base Elizabeth Corry had left on the far counter.

“One like this very one.” He walked over to the teapot and was about to lift it when Roderick dashed before him to take the item and its bottom from the counter.

‘ ‘Tis sorry, I am. This teapot belongs to a friend and is not for sale.” He suspiciously eyed Christian.

After a few moments, Roderick Godfrey must have decided his comment innocent, and said, “I can make you one similar to it.”

“I’m returning to my estates later today,” Christian lied.

“Wait here,” the man said, and hurried back behind the closed door, taking the teapot with him.

Christian listened to the muffled voice of Roderick Godfrey arguing with Elizabeth Corry. A chill ran down his spine when he clearly heard Godfrey say Adam wouldn’t mind. He strained to hear. However, their voices became quieter and a few moments later, Godfrey returned with a smile on his face.

“You can take this one if you like, but I must warn you there has been a minor repair to the spout.”

“No matter. My mother will be thrilled regardless.” Christian took the teapot from Godfrey and studied it. “Who can I thank? You mentioned this particular pot belonged to a friend.”

“I spoke falsely. I thought it so, but when I checked, it was one that was sold to us. We repaired it and planned to resell it. I had forgotten.”

“How fortunate for me,” Christian stated and laid two guineas on the counter to cover the cost.

Roderick Godfrey’s face lit up. “Guineas. You know there’s a shortage.” He grabbed the coins.

“Coins or bills. You pay with what you have,” Christian answered.

“So true,” Roderick replied and started for the back room. “I’ll get your change.”

He returned with the correct amount of crowns and shillings and handed the coins to Christian.

“My thanks,” Christian said. “I appreciate your efforts in making this purchase possible.”

Godfrey beamed and proceeded to wrap the teapot in a piece of red silk before brown-papering it. “Thank you for the opportunity to serve you.” He handed the parcel to him.

Christian smiled at the man and left. Once outside on Sackville Street, he crossed over to the Rose and Thorn Tavern. He’d think on the significance of this exchange over a brew before he returned to his town house. Elizabeth Corry was involved in some way with Roderick Godfrey and whatever it was, his hunch was it would lead him to his brother. Redheads. It always meant trouble. True, Elizabeth’s hair wasn’t a fiery color like some, but definitely a shade of red.

* * * *

“Where were we?” Roderick said, returning from selling her teapot. He seated himself at his worktable across from where she sat. “Ah, let’s see. You made it clear that you don’t wish to draw the pattern for me. Let me make it clear. You’ll do it, or your father will suffer.”

“My father? You mean, you’ve seen him?” Elizabeth jumped to her feet, relieved to hear he was indeed alive.

“Aye, but that’s all I’ll tell you.” He grinned at her. “I hope the gentleman who invaded your home at dawn didn’t frighten you too much.”

“You mean, you ...”

“That’s right. The man needed the funds to pay off some gambling debts, so I hired him to bring me back the teapot I gave you in error. Gentry or nay, the man was an idiot. First, he asked you straight out for the dies, and next, he failed to even search the dining room—the most logical place for a teapot.”

Roderick stood and walked over to a windowed wall with shutters that separated his own work area from his help. He waved at the men on the other side who returned the gesture and continued their engraving.

“Don’t look so sad. I didn’t pay the gent,” he said, obviously intentionally misinterpreting her silence. “Your discovering the coins and dies saved me the trouble of coming for them myself. But now that you know what we’re about, you’ve no choice except to become one of us. Not only will you draw the pattern for me, but you’ll pass the counterfeit coins as well.”

One of them. Forgers. God in heaven. The penalty if caught was death. She didn’t know whether to cry with happiness that her father was alive or to sob in horror over what Roderick proposed she do.

Her continued silence apparently moved Roderick to add, “Need I tell you the alternative, Elizabeth?”

Finally, she said, “ ‘Tis bad enough I have to do the drawing, but please don’t ask me to pass the spurious coins. I wouldn’t be good at it, and what if I got caught?”

“Don’t get caught,” Roderick answered in a matter-of-fact manner and walked back to the worktable where she still stood. “But if you do, we’d find a way to get to you first.”

“That’s a relief,” she half-heartedly said and sat back down.

“Not really. You see, we’d have to kill you, Elizabeth.”

God in heaven. She shuddered and tried to control the nausea that threatened to overcome her. Was this really the same Roderick who was the brother of her best friend, Charlotte? Elizabeth had had no idea he was involved in counterfeiting and doubted Charlotte did either.

“You have what seems to be a profitable business here. Why are you doing this? Where have you taken my father and why?” she asked. Her frayed nerves prompted her to fidget with one of the many small silversmith hammers on the table top.

Roderick instantly noticed this action and carefully removed the hammer from her grasp and set it aside with the others.

“You know better, Elizabeth. The slightest flaw on the surface of a hammer would be transferred to the metal with each hammer blow and cause damage.”

“Why are you doing this, Roderick?” she asked, ignoring his reprimand. She cared little about his tools or the twenty or so small hammers that all looked the same to her.

“Do you remember when our quarters on the outskirts of Dublin burnt down last year?”

She nodded.

“All our furniture and belongings—most of our life savings were destroyed. A short time afterwards, I was approached by a gentleman who had a grudge against England—the courts in particular and the country in general. He asked me if I wanted to produce spurious coins for a profit. It was an extremely desirable proposition after the fire, and a quick way to recover the losses. So I agreed.”

“You could hang.” ‘Tis a risk we’re willing to take.”

“What does any of this have to do with my father?”

“Snooping. ‘Tis only part of the reason, but I’ll let the illustrious gent behind all this tell you himself.”

“Damn you to hell, Roderick!”

He gasped in feigned shock at her unladylike language, only to laugh at his own antics.

Frustrated and anxious to leave, she said, “Charlotte doesn’t know about this, does she?”

“Nay, and if she finds out, I’ll hold you responsible—or rather your father,” Roderick warned.

“How do I know my father is still alive?”