The Red Siren (9 page)

Faith shifted her gaze between her crew and the captain. She’d meant only for them to delay Mr. Waite, not kill him. After she had instructed them to gather the rest of the men at the ship in the morning, her foremost thought was to hurry home, inform Lucas, and get some much-needed sleep, not stroll through town on the arm of the man who
would put a noose around her neck if he knew who she was. Besides, the man gave her an unsettled feeling in her stomach, and she didn’t like it—not one bit. The less time spent in his company, the better. But she should have realized her men could not resist taunting a commander in His Majesty’s Navy.
      The captain’s eyes drifted to hers again, and in a flash, Bishop plucked a gun from inside his vest and pointed it at Mr. Waite before he could react. But the captain only glared at him—a confident, icy glare that sent a shiver down Faith’s back. Her fear for Mr. Waite’s safety suddenly shifted to a fear for her crew’s.
      In one swift motion, Mr. Waite yanked his pistol from its brace and pounded the handle on Bishop’s gun, knocking it the ground, then he whipped his pistol around by the trigger and pointed it straight at the man’s heart.
      “I can handle a pistol as well,” he said with an insolent smirk, cocking the weapon.
      A cheer rose from the crowd as the three men stood with their jaws agape.
      Mr. Waite wiped the sweat from his brow. “Now, if you please, I will be on my way.”
      Unwilling admiration surged within Faith as she watched the captain dispatch her hardened crew so quickly and with such skill. Without so much as a glance her way, he sheathed his sword, brushed by her men, who backed away from him, and took her arm. He tugged her through the crowd, his pistol still firmly gripped in his hand. When they were well away from the center of town, he housed it again then whirled her around to face him, seizing her shoulders.
      “Of all the preposterous, dangerous things to do—wandering around the port at night without an escort.” His gaze skimmed over her. “Are you hurt? No, of course you’re not hurt.” He snorted and released her. “Did you know those men?”
      “Nay.” She gazed up at him, barely able to discern his features in the darkness. A cloud moved aside, allowing moonlight to flood over him. Somehow the mixture of silvery light and sinister shadows made him appear far more dangerous than he did in full sunlight. Or maybe it was because she’d just witnessed him best three of her most skilled crewmen. And his height did naught but aid the impression. Rarely had Faith, who herself was taller than most women, met a man who towered above her.
      
“They seemed to know you.” Suspicion sharpened his tone.
      “I only paid them a shilling to delay you.”
      “To delay me?” Mr. Waite said. “They could have killed me.”
      “You handled them quite well, Captain. And besides, I returned as soon as I saw the situation escalate.”
      “To do what? Protect me?” He snickered and spiked a hand through his dark hair. “All you did was incite them further by telling them who I was.”
      “Nevertheless, I’m flattered that you were willing to engage them in order to escort me home.”
      Mr. Waite released a long sigh. “I do not wish to see you harmed. Regardless of your insistence that you can take care of yourself, Miss Westcott, I fear you do not understand the wicked intentions of most men.”
      Concern burned in his eyes—for her or merely for maintaining his position with her father? He took her hand in his, and the warmth and strength from his touch sent streams of assurance through her. She did not care for the unfamiliar sensation.
      A salty breeze blew in from the bay and played with the wayward strand of hair dangling over his cheek. The muted sounds of music and laughter from town swirled around them then combined with the orchestra of leaves fluttering from beech trees that lined the avenue.
      A horse and carriage clattered by, startling Faith back to her senses.
      “We should be going.”
      When they reached the Westcott home, the captain took Faith’s elbow and led her up the stairs to the porch. “Quite an interesting evening, Miss Westcott.”
      She swung about. “I’m glad I amused you, Mr. Waite.” She lowered her gaze to his muddied breeches and giggled. “But I see you have soiled your pristine uniform.”
      “A battle wound worth the pain for your sake.” Amusement heightened his voice.
      Faith eyed him curiously, finding surprising enjoyment in their repartee.
      “I must return to the ship for a few hours,” he said. “Afterward, I shall be in the guesthouse should you have need of me.”
      “And pray tell, why would I have need of you?”
      Cocking a brow, he gave her a condescending look. “Simply promise
me, Miss Westcott, that you will stay put and not go strolling through the streets at night again.”
      “You can hardly blame me for what happened,” she snapped. “Good heavens, ’twas you who forced me onward with your insulting comments. I simply wished to return home in peace.”
      “What insulting…” He sighed and scratched his jaw. “In any case, you should not be so surprised if you draw the wrong sort of attention. Only unscrupulous women wander the streets at night.”
      “Why, Mr. Waite.” She pressed a hand to her bosom. “I am quite overcome with your concern.” She fluttered her lashes again but this time with every intent to appear as silly as she felt.
      He broke into a grin as he lengthened his stance. “I daresay, Miss Westcott, you have me quite befuddled. I do not know whether you are trying to allure me with your charms or stab me with your words.”
      Faith cocked her head and considered which strategy she indeed preferred. “Perhaps both.”
      A wicked playfulness danced across his eyes. “Until tomorrow.” He bowed, slapped his bicorn atop his head, and walked away.
      Faith entered the house and slammed the oak door then leaned against it with a sigh. What was she doing? Her plan had been to get home as soon as possible, not engage in witty banter with a man who obviously found her company disagreeable. Not that she wasn’t accustomed to that. Her tall stature, intelligent wit, and independent mannerisms never failed to keep suitors at bay. But what did she care?
      Confusion trampled over the new feelings rising within her. At least her day had not been a total loss, for she had learned the whereabouts of a treasure ship, and that alone was well worth enduring the captain’s company.
      “And where have you been?” Edwin crashed into the room, wringing his hands.
      “Why, you know very well, Edwin, I was with Mr. Waite.” Faith sashayed into the room.
      “He should inform me when he will have you home past dark,” Edwin huffed.
      “I shall be sure to tell him the next time I see him.”
      “Very well.” The lines etched in his ruddy face deepened. “I should inform you that Miss Hope went missing most of the day as well.”
      Alarm knotted Faith’s stomach, but she couldn’t show Edwin her
concern. No doubt the jittery steward would go running to Mr. Waite with the news. “I am sure she was here. Perhaps she was just avoiding you, Edwin. You worry too much.” But Faith well knew her sister’s propensity for wayward adventures—one that had become a perpetual thorn in Faith’s side. While Faith risked her life to ensure a future for Hope, her sister was intent on destroying it. “Is she here now?” Faith’s breath halted as she awaited his reply.
      “Yes, miss.”
      “Then all is well.”
      Edwin released a big sigh that shook his sagging jowls. “I knew there would be problems.” He turned on his heels and headed toward the back of the house. His whiny voice faded down the hallway. “I told the admiral. I warned him.”
      At the sound of footsteps, Faith looked up to see Lucas creeping into the entrance hall. “I wanted to make sure ye survived the day with the cap’n.”
      “That I did, Lucas.” Winking, she grabbed the banister and whispered, “We set sail at dawn.”
      “Do ye know of a ship to plunder?”
      Faith grinned. “That I do. A fair prize indeed.”
      With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Lucas scrambled away.
      Faith lifted her weary limbs slowly up the stairs. She must check on her sisters. She hoped they were tucked in for the night. She could grab only a few hours of sleep before she had to rise and make haste to prepare the
Red Siren
to sail.
      For she must reach that treasure ship before Captain Waite.

D
arkness smothered Faith as she tiptoed down the stairs. Morgan’s jagged talons clamped over her right shoulder, but he remained unusually silent. Clutching her simple linen dress with one hand to keep it from swishing, Faith crept downward, gliding her other hand over the delicately carved oak banister. Yet for all her efforts to move quietly, each step echoed a tune uniquely its own, creating an entire ensemble of creaks and groans by the time she made it down to the entrance hall. Breathless, she halted, listening for any stirrings above where Edwin and her sisters slept.
      Guarding the far wall, the grandfather clock drummed a rhythmic
ticktock
that echoed the beating of her heart, yet she could barely make out its stately shape in the darkness. At just past three in the morning, she hoped no one would be awake and she could easily slip away unnoticed. For if she did not set sail by dawn, not only would she not be able to reach the treasure ship before Mr. Waite, but she would risk encountering him along the way. She headed toward the front door, not wanting to risk her normal exit from the back gardens, which could be viewed from the guesthouse where she hoped the captain was still deep in slumber.
      As she thought of him, a smile tilted her lips. Today she would best the infamous commander by stealing the treasure he had sworn to protect right from under his handsome nose.
      Faint voices reached her ears. Halting, Faith huffed and placed Morgan on the banister, cautioning him to remain. “I shall return shortly.” She brushed her fingers over his soft feathers, and he leaned his head against her hand in reply. Then, making her way down the dark hallway, she slunk toward the back of the house, past the warming room, and out the back door, following the sounds drifting from the kitchen.
      
The muggy night air enveloped her like a swamp. Stars twinkled between the branches of a massive live oak that stood guard against the side fence. Up ahead, soft candlelight and hushed voices flowed through the open windows of the cooking room.
      Faith knew she should leave and be about her business, but she thought she had recognized Hope’s soft voice. And she could not imagine what her sister was doing up at so early an hour. Hastening into the kitchen, she allowed the swinging door to bump her from behind. A wave of warmth caressed her from the fireplace, where coals smoldered below a three-legged iron kettle. Hope sat at the table nursing a steaming cup of tea. Molly leaned against a baking shelf littered with wooden bowls and rolling pins, a scowl on her face and her hands on her hips.
      Fear squeezed Faith’s heart. “Good heavens, what is amiss?”
      Hope’s look of surprise at seeing her sister faded to one of alarm as her gaze shifted to Molly.
      The cook shook her head. “Bad enough you kept me up half the night worryin’ about you. Now you woke up your sister.”
      Faith took a step toward Hope, whose gaze immediately dropped to her tea.
      Molly huffed. “I tell you what’s amiss, Miss Faith. Your sister arrived home only an hour ago.”
      “I beg your pardon? At two in the morning?” Shock halted Faith as her gaze flitted between Molly and Hope. She had known her sister to venture out without permission before but never so late. “I checked on you. You were asleep when I retired for the night.”
      Hope’s silence sent pinpricks of fear over Faith’s scalp. She rushed to her sister’s side. “Has someone hurt you, dear?” Horrid memories resurged as Faith knelt and examined her sister from head to toe. Hope wore her best dress—a low-necked French gown of royal blue silk, woven with gold thread—but nary a mark could be seen upon it—or on Hope for that matter. Faith pressed a hand over her heart to still its rapid beat.
      “Never you mind, Miss Faith.” Molly hiked her skirts up and tucked them into her waistband to avoid setting them aflame then grabbed a cloth and lifted the kettle from the fire. “She be all right, at least in body. In the head, I isn’t too sure.” She placed the pot on the serving table.
      “Where have you been?” Faith demanded as anger replaced her fear. Her throat went dry. “Or should I be asking with whom?”
      
Wiping a curl of golden hair from her forehead, Hope shrugged. “I assure you, dear sister, I was with Arthur and perfectly safe.”
      “Arthur? You speak of Lord Falkland?” Rising, Faith blew out a sigh and began to pace. “You call him by his familiar name after only a few months’ acquaintance?”
      “I feel as though I have known him all my life.” Hope smiled, her eyes dancing.
      Molly snorted.
      Hope’s brows drew together. “He loves me.”
      “Has he declared his love?” Faith threw one hand to her hip. “Has he approached Father for your hand as a true gentleman should, rather than risk your reputation by flaunting you about town at all hours of the night?”
      “Not in so many words.” Hope raised her chin. “And he was not flaunting me about.”
      Molly clicked her tongue. “Alls I know is, it’s most unproper for a young lady to behave so. If your pappy knew—”
      “Father is not here.” Hope’s icy gaze shot to Molly. “He is never here.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “If you must know, we were at the Sign of Bacchus.”
      “A tavern?” Faith could not believe her ears. She rubbed her eyes. She did not have time for Hope’s petty defiance.
      “’Tis not a tavern,” Hope shot back. “Arthur refers to it as a club. They hold concerts, lectures, and balls for the most influential of high society. Everyone who is anyone spends her evenings at the Sign.”
      Faith had heard of the place. It was said to contain the finest collection of mahogany furniture in town. Original oil paintings of Henrietta Johnson, a local artist, lined the stairwell leading to the nineteen boarding rooms above. Of all the public drinking houses, it was by far the most polished in town.
      “Perhaps so, but ’tis still a tavern and no place for a lady,” Faith snapped, angrier with herself than with Hope. She must keep a closer watch upon her sister. “I suppose Anne Cormac was there as well?”
      “Anne is a dear friend of mine. We share the same passions.”
      “What passions might those be? Defying your fathers? Associating with gamblers and rogues through all hours of the night like common trollops?”
      Hope swallowed hard.
      
“And what do we know of Lord Falkland?” Faith tried to lower her rising voice. “Nothing, save his reputation as a philanderer and a swindler.”
      Hope sprang to her feet, her eyes welling with tears. “He is neither of those things. You do not know him. He is a gentleman. Full of passion and life.” She swiped at a tear trickling down her cheek. “He tells me I am special.”
      Faith regarded her sister.
Of course he does, dear one. ’Tis what swindlers do.
Her heart wilted. Sweet Hope. Always the dreamer, always the romantic. Was it her past that forced her into such dangerous liaisons? Fear bristled over Faith. She might be able to protect her sister from these scoundrels, but how was she to protect Hope from herself?
      Molly cleared her throat. “Would you like some tea, Miss Faith? Since you up and all.”
      “No thank you, Molly.” Faith sighed. “I’m sorry you have missed your sleep. You should have awakened me when you discovered Miss Hope gone.”
      “I couldn’a slept anyways.” Molly shrugged. “No sense in worryin’ the both of us. I was about to alert Mr. Waite—it being his job and all—when Miss Hope come home.”
      The side door creaked open, and Lucas’s tall frame filled the tiny entrance. His questioning dark eyes met Faith’s then drifted to Molly and down to her bare ankles. He shifted his gaze. “Morning, Miss Molly, Miss Hope.”
      Flustered, Molly yanked her skirts from her waistband and allowed them to drop over her legs. Faith had never seen a Negro blush, but she was sure she detected a red hue upon Molly’s otherwise flawless cinnamon-colored skin.
      “Why, we might as well throw a party seein’ as so many of us can’t sleep tonight.” Molly turned and began stacking a set of wooden bowls on the baking table.
      “You’re lookin’ fine this mornin’, Miss Molly.” Lucas gazed at Molly’s back as he twisted his hat in his massive hands.
      Molly veered around and gave Lucas a snort. “Why, I’ll thank you not to be lookin’, Mr. Corwin.” Her voice was caustic, but a hint of a smile danced on her mouth.
      The grin slipped from Lucas’s face as he ran a hand through the coils of his shoulder-length black hair.
      
Hope raised a brow. “You and Lucas are venturing out again?” Her words sent a jolt of surprise through Faith. “Yes, I have eyes,” she continued. “I have seen you two run off in the middle of the night many a time. What I fail to understand is why ’tis so appalling when I do the same.”
      Faith balled her hands into fists. “First of all, Lucas is my escort. Secondly…’tis none of your concern. I am the eldest, and you will listen to me.”
      Pain etched across Hope’s gaze, igniting into anger. “If I must do as you say, dear sister, then I must also do as you do. Therefore, I shall go out at night whenever I please.”
      Faith ground her teeth together. How could she make her sister understand that what she did, she did for Hope? “There is a big difference between what I am doing and what you are doing.” Faith averted her eyes as guilt showered over her. With their mother gone, her sisters looked to her to model how a proper, moral lady behaved. She had not realized until now just how closely they watched her.
      And how deeply she was failing them.
      “I am securing your future,” she said simply.
      “By running off in the thick of night to make soap, no doubt?” Hope smirked. “You must think me as dull witted as Father does.”
      “On the contrary, I find you to be quite smart. Perhaps a bit foolish at times.” Faith exchanged a knowing glance with Lucas. “All I ask is that you trust me.”
      “And we best be gettin’ to it, mistress.” Lucas nodded, his eyes alight with urgency. “Time’s a wastin’.”
      Wringing her hands, Faith glanced out the window, where the square shape of the stables across the yard emerged from the darkness. She had spent far too much time arguing with her sister.
      Hope shot her tear-filled gaze to Molly. “Why do you not scold my sister as you do me, Molly?” Wrapping her arms about herself, she hung her head. “Why is everyone in this family against me?”
      “Not my place to scold either of you…not my place.” Molly tossed a rag onto the table and patted the knot of ebony hair at the nape of her neck. “I’m just worryin’ for your safety, is all. But there’s not much I can do if the both of you keep runnin’ off at night.” She shook her head.
      “I haven’t the time to discuss this now.” Faith approached the door and turned to face Hope. “We shall talk more when I return.”
      “Forgive me, sister, if I do not believe you, for you rarely have time
to visit with me anymore.” The lines on Hope’s face deepened, her eyes pleading pools that tugged upon Faith’s heart.
      “I must go.” Faith forced out the words she knew would hurt her sister, but she had no choice. If she delayed even another minute, they would be too late.
      Hope’s eyes sharpened. “Perhaps I should discuss this with Mr. Waite? I am sure he has time to converse with me.”
      Lucas cleared his throat and gestured toward the door.
      Faith tightened her lips to keep the anger she felt from firing out from them. “I wish you would not do that.” But the pain on her sister’s face melted her anger away. She held out a hand toward Hope. “Someday you shall see that all I want is what is best for you.”
      “You do not know what is best for me.” Hope sniffed then took a step toward the door. “If you will excuse me, I am rather tired.”
      Faith laid a gentle hand on Hope’s arm as she passed. “Promise me you will stay home until I return.”
      Hope nodded, her blue eyes rising to meet Faith’s. Despite the tears, they held a sweet innocence tainted by a deep sorrow.
      Faith placed a kiss upon Hope’s cheek. “Sleep well.”
      Lucas held open the door as Hope edged by him and disappeared toward the house.
      After she left, Molly pointed an accusing finger toward Faith. “You spoil that child.”
      “She has suffered more than either you or I could imagine.” Faith swallowed the burning agony that had risen in her throat and turned to leave.
      “She looks up to you, Miss Faith.” Molly’s sharp tone yanked Faith around again. “If you want to do right by her, be a good example.”
      “I
am
doing right by her. You will see, Molly.” Faith glanced over her shoulder at Lucas, who was still holding the door ajar. They were late. “We must be—”
      “I don’t want to know where you two are off to.” Molly shook her head. “Your family treats me well, pays me fair when most of my people ain’t nothin’ but slaves in this province. I thank you for that. And for the first time in my life, I feels like I’m a part of a family. So it’s not my place to be tattling on you or Miss Hope. I don’t want to risk being let go by the admiral. So alls I can do is pray for the good Lord to watch over you.”
      
“I’ll take proper care of her, Miss Molly. Don’t ye be worryin’ none,” Lucas said.
      “Don’t be worryin’, you say?” Molly smirked and planted her hands on her waist. “Why, you’s just as bad an influence on Miss Faith as she is on Miss Hope. And a grown man, too. Shame on you.”
      “Let’s away, Lucas.” Faith nudged him, but his gaze was fixed on Molly, a devilish grin alighting his face.
      “Now what’s got you grinnin’ like the cat that ate the mouse?” Molly asked.
      “Only that ye noticed I’m a grown man.”
      “Any fool can see that.” Molly flung a hand in the air with a huff. “Now be gone with you.”
      Lucas slapped his oversize hat on his head, tipped it at Molly, and disappeared out the door.
      “If Edwin or the captain inquires as to our whereabouts when they arise,” Faith said, “please tell them we have gone into town for supplies.”
      “Now you know I can’t be lyin’ for you. What would the good Lord think of that?” Molly grabbed a rag and tossed it over her shoulder with a disapproving glance.
      Faith sighed. “Very well, then. Tell them whatever you wish.” She turned and followed Lucas into the darkness.
      Before Faith made it back into the house, a sweet hymn swirled over her from the kitchen. Each word of praise to a God Faith no longer spoke to jabbed at her heart.