The Girl in the Gatehouse (32 page)

“I gave my word to Mr. Martin that I would help him. Hart has also agreed.”

William Hart nodded eagerly. “Truth is, Miss Aubrey, we are bored to tears. If we don’t see some action soon, there is no accounting for our behavior.”

She turned those liquid amber eyes on first Hart, then him. “Promise me you won’t shoot anybody. Or run anybody through, or whatever it is you do with those swords.”

“Oh, very well,” Hart said with shuddering sarcasm.

But Matthew found no humor in the comment. He did not wish to think of all the bloodshed he had been responsible for in the commission of his duty.

The sailors hurled grappling hooks across to
the Serapis, catching them in the rigging
and hooking on to the bulwarks.

– Evan Thomas,
John Paul Jones

chapter 25

When night fell, the men reconvened at the
gatehouse
, where young George Barnes joined them. There, they took turns blackening their faces with a burnt cork. Watching him, Miss Aubrey shook her head. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, actually.” Matthew grinned and tapped the tip of her nose with the blackened cork. “I didn’t realize the life of a gentleman would be so mind-numbingly boring.”

She looked adorable with a spotted nose. “Has it all been boring?” she asked.

He tucked his chin in mock disapproval. Knew she was fishing for a compliment. “Not all, minx, as well you know.”

The three of them, Martin, Hart, and Matthew, followed George, their self-appointed guide, into the darkness toward the poorhouse. Hart stayed near George, and Matthew overheard him whispering to the boy, asking after his sister. Martin carried a long coil of rope and something under his arm. But they carried no lamp, or fatal weapon either. Matthew hoped and prayed Mrs. Pitt and her son did not sleep with guns at the ready.

When they reached the side of the poorhouse, George pointed up to the top floor. “See that open window? That’s his room there.”

From under his arm, Martin drew forth an iron treble hook.

Matthew felt his brows rise. “A grappling hook, Mr. Martin?”

“Oh, I have quite a collection of weapons and navy paraphernalia. Never imagined this old thing would be put back into service.”

Matthew was relieved that they would not have to break in to see the man. Hart, always better with knots than Matthew, secured the rope to the grappling hook.

Martin handed him the heavy coil of rope. “Captain Bryant, might you do the honors?”

Matthew supposed he was the most able-bodied among them, and hoped he had the strength for the task. He laid the coil on the ground beside him and lifted a loop of slack in his left hand, while in his right he began swinging the heavy hook like a pendulum, gaining momentum. He and his crew had done the like innumerable times in preparation for boarding enemy ships, but that distance had been horizontal versus the more difficult vertical throw required now. He took one last swing, and released the hook with a heave and a grunt. It flew true and landed on the roof with a
clank
. Matthew winced, waiting for lights to be lit or dogs to bark, or a head to appear in the open window. But after the echo died away, all was silent.

“Well done,” Hart breathed.

Matthew tested the hold of the hook. Finding it anchored, he took a deep breath and lifted his foot against the rough stone. Using the rope, he climbed laboriously up the side of the building.

A few months of easy living had already softened him. Matthew was sweating profusely, and his arms and legs shook by the time he reached the third row of windows. He gained footing on the ledge and paused at the open window, trying to catch his breath. He could see almost nothing inside the room, save for the glow of embers in a hearth. He was surprised the old man had slept through the clang of the hook landing on the roof above his room. Was he ill? Or not in the room at all? Perhaps he had escaped on his own without their help.

The window casement was thrust straight out, and he was relieved that, although he was clearly no longer in peak condition, at least he was still trim enough to slide through the opening.

He landed in the room with a thud, but before he could gain his bearings, he was knocked off his feet in a forceful whoosh and crashed to the floor. For a dazed moment, he thought he had been felled by “wind of ball,” the passing air from cannon shot that could knock a man senseless. But this was no mere wind that pinned him to the ground. This wind had flesh and sinew and a fierce grip around his throat.

“Thought I wouldn’t hear your grappling hook catching on the rigging and hooking on the bulwarks, but I did,” came a gruff whisper from above him. “Try to board my ship, will you? Who are you? A Frenchman, I suppose?”

Matthew fought to breathe, pushing at the hands that held him. His attacker loosened his grip enough for Matthew to say, “No, sir. Captain Bryant of the Royal Navy, lately of the Frigate
Sparta
.”

“What’s this?” His captor released his hold, stood, and moved to the fire. A moment later a stick of tinder had been kindled in the embers and a candle lamp sparked to life.

“You saw my signal?” the man asked.

“We did, sir.” Matthew rubbed his smarting throat. “We are not a boarding party, sir. Rather, an escape party, come to free you, if you wish it.”

The man lifted the candle lamp higher and peered into Matthew’s face. “Do I not look free? When was a captain’s cabin ever so fine?” He swung his lamp in an arc around the room – and indeed the upholstered settee and chair, table, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were as fine as any gentleman’s library.

“And how do you attain the roof from here, sir?” Matthew asked.

“The name is Captain Prince,” the old man said sternly. “And I would appreciate if you would remember that.”

“Yes, sir – that is, Captain.”

The man’s expression softened and he lifted the candle lamp toward one corner of the ceiling, where a rickety ladder led to a trapdoor. “There’s the hatchway there. I come and go as I please. Though John locked it for a time after my, em, guest appearance downstairs. Only recently managed to persuade him to unlock it again. He reinforced the door lock as well.”

So much for walking out of here,
Matthew thought on a sigh. “Would you like to climb down with me, Captain? That is, if you are able?”

“Of course I am able. I am not an invalid.”

Perhaps not, but the man was surely nearly seventy. “Mr. Martin awaits below, Captain.”

“My former steward? I thought it was him that night. I am sorry I confused him with a kidnapper.”

Matthew hesitated. “An . . . honest mistake.”

The man shrugged on his coat and stepped toward the window.

“Um . . .” Matthew wondered if he should mention it. “Shoes, Captain?”

The man frowned. “Can’t abide the things. Now, let us be off.”

Recalling how the man had leapt over the stair railing the night of the theatrical, Matthew should not have been surprised at the ease and agility with which he descended the side of the poorhouse, but he was. Matthew followed after, less gracefully. But he told himself that he’d already had to scale the wall, which was the more difficult feat.

The man leapt to the ground and landed before Martin. Martin knuckled his hat brim. “Captain Prince.”

“It is you, Mr. Martin. How good to see you again after so long.” The two men shook hands.

Hart saluted as well. “Lieutenant Hart.”

The older man nodded his acknowledgement.

Hart clapped the shoulder of the boy in front of him. “And this is George Barnes, who served as our guide tonight.”

“George, is it?” The man shook the lad’s hand.

Martin said eagerly, “With your permission, Captain Prince, I have prepared your favorite treat – figgy dowdy.”

“Figgy dowdy! How that takes me back!”

Martin gestured with his good hand. “If you would like to follow us across the road to the gatehouse . . . ?”

“Lead on, Mr. Martin.”

George decided he’d better turn in for the night, but the others walked away, leaving the rope where it was, with the old man’s promise to toss down the grappling hook upon his return.
So he already plans to
return,
Matthew thought
. So much for our “rescue.”

“Are you really Captain Prince?” Hart asked as they walked, but Bryant elbowed his side. He had no wish to offend the man. Mad though he might be, he had clearly served the British Navy in some capacity to have gained such skill in signal flags, not to mention ship vernacular.

But the man answered Hart’s question without asperity. “That is a long story, Mr. Hart. Ply me with figgy dowdy and port and I shall happily oblige you.”

Mariah was relieved to see the would-be rescuers return unscathed, and with their object among them. She was somewhat nervous about having the strange man in her home. Was he insane, as Mrs. Pitt suggested? He had certainly seemed coherent and well-spoken when she had talked briefly with him through the door, but she could not forget the way he had charged from behind the curtains and onto the stage, wooden sword blazing.

“Miss Aubrey,” Martin began. “May I present Captain Prince?”

“How do you do?” She curtsied and he bowed gallantly before

“Ah, the kind young lady who came to visit me. What a pleasure to meet you face-to-face.”

Mariah opened the door wider and stepped back. “Welcome. Come in.”

Captain Bryant ran back to the great house for the requested port, which Mariah did not possess, while Martin set about brewing coffee and whisking up a sauce for the figgy dowdy.

While Mariah set the larger table in the drawing room, Captain Prince surveyed her movements, hands behind his back.

“Were you able to deliver my message to Miss Amy?”

“I did, sir.”

“I have not seen her since the night of the . . . uh . . . drama. How does she fare, do you know?”

“Last I saw her she was a bit frail. But her spirits seemed as cheerful as ever.”

“Yes. They always were.”

She wanted to ask how long he had known Miss Amy but did not press him with Mr. Hart and Dixon in the room.

Soon Captain Bryant returned with the promised port and Martin set his masterpiece on the table before them along with a sauceboat.

“What a sight for these poor eyes,” Captain Prince said.

Martin beamed.

The figgy dowdy was just as delicious the second time, Mariah thought. Even Dixon admitted it. Captain Prince was excessive in his praise, which clearly delighted Martin. The older man raised his glass of port in salute, while the others sipped coffee. And when Captain Bryant refilled his glass, Captain Prince neatly wiped his mouth and began his tale.

“The
Largos
was my first command. I shall never forget her. We undertook a long voyage to the Horn, amassing several victories with which I shall not bruise your ears. Mr. Martin, I would guess, has told you of our final battle and the storm that was our ruin?”

Heads nodded around the table.

“Then you know the mighty
Largos
was lost. It still pains me to think of her, there at the bottom of the sea, rotting away. Not unlike me, in my chamber. My useful days, my glory days, gone. But, I digress.” He sipped his port.

“I was determined to go down with my ship to her watery grave. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but one minute I was standing on deck and the next the ship had rolled and I was tossed into the sea. I seem to remember a mermaid slipping her arm around my neck and telling me to float on my back while she pulled me to that beautiful shore. I suppose I assumed she meant heaven. Then my vision began to darken like a shrinking tunnel, like a ship’s glass fouled or broken, and I could see nothing but blackness. How long I inhabited that blackness I cannot say.”

His faded green eyes grew misty. “My earliest memories of that time are of voices. Unfamiliar, birdlike voices, speaking in a tongue I did not recognize or comprehend. Soft hands, tending me, interspersed with searing pain in my head and eyes. I would guess now that I was in and out of consciousness for quite some time, months even. I do not know. When I finally awoke, I felt a long beard on my formerly clean-shaven face. I opened my eyes to see two beautiful brown women. It seemed as if I should know them. And in a strange way, I did. I had come to know their voices, their touch, even their aromas over the months I had drifted on the waves of unconsciousness. It was a pleasure to put faces to people I already knew. Much as I felt upon seeing you, Miss Aubrey.”

He smiled, and Mariah returned the gesture.

“Were these women my family? My friends?” Captain Prince continued. “I did not know. I was not bewildered initially. That came later when shards of memory from my former life began to return. But at first, when these women smiled down at me as if they knew me, and talked excitedly to each other in their language saying, or so I imagined, “Here he is! At last he has returned to us!” I felt only relief and contentment. A newborn child in his mother’s arms. And, in many ways, Fara, the older of the two women, was very like a mother to me. Her daughter, Noro, the sister I never had.