To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (19 page)

Claire had awakened early to dress and pace in her room. She
must do something! It had finally come to her sometime in the few hours
remaining in the night that the Reverend Mother had been right. She could not
live Élise’s dream. Might she send a letter to her papa persuading him to free
the English seamen he held? Ask him to allow her to stay in London? Cornelia
had begged her to do so.

She had stolen down the stairs not wishing to wake any who
still slept, then froze when she’d heard a knock on the front door. A footman
had answered and Nate entered.

“I must see Cap’n Powell. I’m his cabin boy. ’Tis urgent.”

“Follow me,” had come the reply.

What could Nate have wanted that would be urgent? Carefully
she had descended the stairs to hide in the recess next to the breakfast room
as the footman had talked to the captain. He must have risen even earlier than
she. Curious to know what was so urgent, she had sneaked to the study after the
footman had passed her.

She had waited in the shadows as the captain walked to the
study. The door was ajar and she listened as he spoke to Nate. What she had
heard made her pulse speed.

Papa is in London?
I must find him!

Tobacco smoke assaulted his nostrils as Simon stepped through
the door of the tavern. Shafts of sunlight filtering in through the paned glass
windows illuminated the haze that hung in the air. The large room, crowded with
unbathed men, smelled of sweat and sour ale. He had never liked such places
overmuch, but this day the tavern served his purpose. He had chosen the Bell
Tavern because it was a good place to hide in the open. And a meeting here
wouldn’t lead Donet’s men back to Claire.

Ambling his way through the crowded wooden tables, avoiding
outstretched legs and serving wenches carrying heavy trays, he slid into a
chair at the back of the room where he could remain in the shadows. As more men
entered the tavern, the noise of their midday conversations rose to a clamor.

Moving his chair to face the front door, he accepted a
tankard of ale from the smiling barmaid while watching for Jordan and any who
might follow him, pondering his next move.

Now that his business in London was completed, his priority
was returning to Rye. He had no intention of giving Eden more time to find a
reason to involve Claire in his schemes. The British government could damn well
negotiate peace without her as a pawn. Besides, he was anxious to know if
Elijah and Giles had returned from Paris. Even more, he wanted to know what
Amos Busby had learned in Lorient.

A movement at the front door caught his eye as Jordan Landor
slipped in and doffed his tricorne, revealing a familiar head of curly dark
hair. The first mate quickly scanned the room and then made straight for Simon.

His green eyes twinkling in amusement, Jordan pulled out a
chair and sat. “Thought I’d find you tucked away back here.”

“So you did.” Simon waited till the barmaid brought another
tankard and then, making himself heard over the din, got to the point. “How
many are watching the
Fairwinds
?”

“Zeb thought he recognized two. But there might be more.
Donet is nothing if not thorough.”

“Any idea whether his ship is near? I’d like to avoid
another encounter with the Frenchman. The mademoiselle would not take it kindly
if I blew her father out of the water.”

“There are so many ships in port just now, the Thames is
like a kettle of stew on the boil. No way to tell if Donet is anywhere close.
But if he is, he’s not sailing his brig-sloop.”

Simon thought of the possibilities. “Most likely he sails
another of the ships he has seized, an English merchantman, perhaps. After all,
he began as a pirate. Slipping over the side with knives between their teeth
must be familiar to his crew. I’ve often thought his many disguises account for
his successfully eluding our frigates.”

“Aye, you’re right. We cannot be certain of the ship he’s
sailing.”

Simon had been toying with an idea, one that would be
certain to keep Claire close to him and away from her father, at least for a
time. And it might spare his men a fight in port. “Can you capture Donet’s men
watching the
Fairwinds
?”

“Aye, at least the ones we can see. We’ve plenty of extra crew
from the
Abundance
to set a trap.”

“Good. ’Twill slow down the Frenchman. Send word with Nate
early tomorrow when you have Donet’s spies in hand. Tell the lad to bring what
he needs for the next few days.”

“What are you thinking, Captain?”

“Donet will expect me to return to the ship with his
daughter in tow unless he believes she is already there. But he might think her
absent if his spies have not observed her on deck, or me either for that
matter. He won’t be expecting what I have in mind.”

Jordan’s brows drew together as he listened intently. “And
that would be?”

“I want you to sail the
Fairwinds
to Rye while I take
the lady over land.”

A look of amazement appeared on Jordan’s face. “He’d never
expect you to travel by coach.”

“My thought exactly, except that I plan to use a private
carriage. It will take us two days to get to Rye. You can sail there in the
same time if the wind and tide are with you.”

“I’ve done it before,” Jordan assured him. “Aye, I can do
it.”

“The mademoiselle won’t like it, but then she wasn’t too
pleased when I carried her away from Saint-Denis.”

Jordan chuckled. “Or when you forced her to sail from
Dieppe. What are your orders should the
Fairwinds
be followed out of
port by another ship?”

“Try to elude him on the Thames. Once in the Channel, use
the schooner’s greater speed to outrun her. Do not engage unless Donet forces
your hand. Not even
he
would follow you into the maze of Rye Harbor.”

“We leave tomorrow,” announced Simon at dinner. He regretted
springing this on the baron and his lady but it could not be avoided.

For a moment Danvers and his wife said nothing. Next to him,
Claire inhaled sharply.

“So soon?” asked Cornelia, struggling to find her voice.

“Aye, something’s arisen. Mademoiselle Donet and I will travel
by carriage. The arrangements are made. I cannot risk sailing the
Fairwinds
myself.”

Simon watched the reactions of his friends. Cornelia shot a
glance at Claire. Danvers’ brow twisted in puzzlement. Neither he nor his wife
asked Simon the why of his plans. By now they were familiar with his strange
comings and goings and would not press him beyond what he offered by way of
explanation.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Claire, turning to look at
him, her azure eyes inquiring, her voice insistent.

“Back to Rye.”

Her eyes flashed as if she might defy him, but before she
could open her mouth, Cornelia interjected, “I will help you pack, Claire.”

“Only what you’ll need for one night,” he counseled.

“This is all so mysterious, Simon,” Danvers protested. “Have
you told Eden?”

“No. And I do not intend to do so.”

Danvers’ forehead creased in a frown. “He will not be happy.
Said he wanted to talk to you about the exchange before you sailed.”

“My ship is under observation. So would I be if I went to
Whitehall just now. The Frenchman would expect such a move. No, I cannot risk
it. And I travel in haste.”

“Ah, I see.” Danvers nodded as if he understood, though the
baron could only guess at all that was in Simon’s mind.

Cornelia opened her mouth. “But—”

“Nay, darling. Do not ask him more,” Danvers gently chided
as he took his wife’s hand. “Simon has no doubt considered carefully what must
be done.” The baron faced Simon. “We wish you and Mademoiselle Donet a safe
journey.”

Claire sat back in the hackney she had hailed, relief flowing
through her. Once she and Cornelia had seen to the packing of the portmanteau
the baroness had loaned her, Claire had asked to be alone for a while. It had
been her excuse to slip away.

Perhaps it was a foolhardy venture but she had to try and
find her papa. If she were successful, and he knew of her wishes, if all he
wanted was her safe return, wouldn’t he allow the captain’s men to go free?
Might he even allow her to stay in London?

Leaving the mansion unobserved had not been easy, but she’d
managed it, except for one young footman who intercepted her just as she was
about leave. She stilled her racing heart long enough to give him the excuse of
an afternoon walk in Mayfair. He had not been pleased but he could hardly hold
her prisoner when Cornelia treated her as a guest.

There was no guard following her either, perhaps because
she’d been with Simon. He had given her money the day she and Cornelia had gone
shopping, and she still had it. The coins were safely stored in her reticule
lying on the seat beside her. Glancing out the window at the sun on the
buildings, her spirits lifted knowing she’d have hours of light in which to
accomplish her purpose.

Directing the hired coachman to the Pool of London had been
easy enough but trying to recall where on the river the
Fairwinds
was
anchored had been more difficult. She remembered the Thames was crowded with
hundreds of ships the day they’d arrived. Into her mind came the picture of the
huge mooring post nearly three times the height of a man to which ships had
tied up. When she’d described it to the coachman, he had nodded as if
remembering such a marker. He must have taken pity on her, a foreigner and a
lady alone, for he agreed to see if he could find it.

If she found the
Fairwinds
, would she recognize her
papa’s men who were watching it? Other than M’sieur Bequel, she could only
recall one or two who had come to the convent with her papa in all the years
she was there, but their faces might be familiar. She hoped so. It might not be
a very good plan but it was the only one she had.

A few minutes later, the hackney rolled to a stop. She took
a deep breath, gathering her courage. The coachman climbed down and opened the
door. Holding open his palm for the fare, he said, “Yer here, miss. The post ye
described is just there.” Her gaze followed the direction of his outstretched
arm and she saw the mooring post, the ships tied up at the wharf—and the
Fairwinds
!
Now all she had to do was find her father’s men.

“Thank you, sir.” She dropped the coins in his hand.

When the hackney had driven away, Claire walked to one of
the buildings that faced the river where she stood in the shadows, observing
what was before her. The smell she had inhaled that first day they’d moored in
the Pool of London was there again, the stench of garbage and the smell of sour
ale from the taverns. There were men everywhere, some carrying cargo to and
from anchored ships, but some standing idly by, appearing to do nothing more
than share bits of conversation with other men. Avoiding their curious gazes,
she ventured forth as if she had come a purpose to seek passage on a ship.

She was not the only woman on the quay. A few leaned against
the front of a tavern, wearing dresses revealing much of their bosoms, tossing
seductive smiles to any man who walked by. There were others, more properly
attired, who appeared to be passengers waiting for the small boats to ferry
them out to ships. But unlike those waiting for ships, she was alone.

She studied the faces of the men whose gazes were fixed on
the
Fairwinds
, hoping to recognize even just one.
There.
Was that
man sitting on a cask in front of the tavern one of her papa’s men? He looked
familiar, a seaman by his dress. Could he be one of her papa’s crew? If he
were, he would have a French accent. Perhaps she might ask him a question.

She approached as if to walk by him and then stopped. “Sir,
do you happen to know where a ship named the
Abundance
is anchored?” Why
she had used that ship’s name she wasn’t certain. But any of her papa’s men would
recognize the name since her papa had seized that ship. And they would
recognize her French accent.

“Aye, I do,” said the man in a distinctive English accent.
“Likely ’tis in Lorient.”

Oh, no.
A sudden dread took hold of her. She looked
closely at the man and recognized him as the bos’n’s mate from the
Fairwinds
.
The one who had scrambled over the deck to secure the anchor the day they’d
sailed for London. Only now he was cleaned up and had shaved off his beard. She
couldn’t even recall his name.

Rising, he fixed his steely eyes on her. “And what might the
captain’s passenger be doin’ struttin’ down the London quay and askin’
questions about it?”

“Excuse me,” she said, turning to go.

“Not so fast, mistress.” He stuck out his hand to restrain
her and her heart stopped. “The cap’n will be wantin’ to know what yer about.
Spyin’ on the ship fer yer father, are ye?”

“No…” she stammered. He clenched her arm in a vise-like
grip. “No I was just—”

“Come this way,” he directed, as he pulled her behind him.

“No! Let go of me!” He did not let go, nor did he lead her
to the ship. Instead, he yanked her around the building toward the rear of the
tavern.

As he neared the back door, a man stepped into his path. He
was garbed as an ordinary seaman but with a difference that spoke of France.
The scarf about his neck, the color of his open waistcoat and something about
his short dark beard told her he might be one of her papa’s crew.

“I’ll be seeing the mademoiselle to her papa,” he said in a
decidedly French accent as he reached for her.

He is French—and knows Papa!

The Frenchman latched on to her arm and tugged, but the
bos’n’s mate did not let go. Instead, he gripped her arm more tightly. “Nay,
the woman is comin’ with me.”

Caught between the two men, she was being torn asunder.
“Stop! You are hurting me.”

The man from her papa’s crew let go of her arm and swung his
fist into the jaw of the English sailor. Claire lurched back, avoiding the two
men now engaged in an all-out brawl in the alley. She thought of running away
but the back door of the tavern swung open and men from the
Fairwinds
’
crew rushed out.

One of them pulled the Frenchman off the bos’n’s mate. It
took two of them to hold the French crewmember, so violently did he struggle.

“He’s one of them Frenchies,” said the bos’n’s mate wiping
the blood off his mouth. Gesturing to her, he said with a swagger, “See what I
caught in the net.”

“The captain’s lady,” said a man she recognized as Mr.
Anderson, the one who had guarded her door on the
Fairwinds
.

“Saved us the trouble of tracking down yet another French
spy,” said one of the others.

The Frenchman looked at her with regret in his eyes. “
Pardonnez-moi
,
mademoiselle. I have failed. The
capitaine
will be most displeased.”

Her heart sank. “I have failed, too, m’sieur, for I thought
to find my papa, but as you see, we are both now captives.”

The men from the
Fairwinds
led them into the small
back room of the tavern, a storage room piled high with casks of ale. They
forced the Frenchman onto a stool and tied his hands behind him.

Mr. Anderson turned to her. “What might ye be doin’ here,
mistress?”

“You’d never understand if I tried to explain,” she said
with a frustrated sigh.

“Find Mr. Landor,” he said to one of the men. “The first
mate will know what to do. Don’t think he’d be wantin’ us to take her aboard.”

They escorted her to one side of the room where she
gratefully slipped into a chair.

A few moments later, Mr. Landor appeared, frowning his
disapproval.

“Mademoiselle Donet…”

She rose. “
Oui
.”

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story, Mr. Landor. You may not believe me, but
I was trying to help.”

“I doubt very much the captain would want you involved,” he
replied. “In fact, I’m quite certain he will be furious when he learns you are
here. The wharf is not a place for a lady by herself. And he does not want you
seen at the moment.”

Mr. Anderson spoke up. “We’ve another one of Donet’s crew,
Mr. Landor.” An explanation followed. In response, Mr. Landor whispered more
orders and the French crewmember was escorted out of the room.

Mr. Landor faced the bos’n’s mate, standing guard next to
Claire. “Get me a hackney. I’ll take her back myself.”

The ride back to the Danvers’ mansion was a long one since
Mr. Landor had directed the coachman to take a circuitous route. Claire sat
stony-faced, angry with herself at botching her one chance to gain the captain
his missing crew without having to let her go.

A gloomy silence hung in the air.

As the hackney jounced over the cobbles, the first mate
studied her thoughtfully from the opposite seat, his green eyes boring into
her. Finally, he spoke. “Seeking your father’s men, were you, mademoiselle?”

“I was,” she confessed. “When I learned my papa might be in
London, I thought to persuade him to free the captain’s men.”

“Even if you had found him, it would have been a useless
effort. Your father would not release our men unless we had you to exchange.”

“But why? I would have been free.”

“Because there is more to this than just your freedom,
mademoiselle. Your father wants English prisoners to bargain for Americans. He
wants both you
and
the crew from the
Abundance
. ’Tis why he
attacked the
Fairwinds
on the Channel.”

She sank back against the padded seat, a feeling of defeat
washing over her. “I see. Then there really was no hope for what I did.”

“No hope at all, and putting yourself in danger will not
please the captain.”

He was right, as Claire learned when they returned to the
Danvers’ home. Mr. Landor left her in the entry hall and the butler escorted
her into the baron’s study. Having apparently received word of her impetuous
action, Simon was there, arms crossed as he leaned against the desk, a scowl on
his face as he waited to hear her explanation.

“Well?” he demanded, his anger palpable. “What were you
thinking by doing something so foolish? Did you plan to escape?”

She took a deep breath. “I only wanted to help. When I heard
Nate say my papa’s ship might be in London, I thought if I could find him, I
could persuade him to set your men free.”
And to let me stay with you.

“Naïve, mademoiselle. Very naïve.”

Instantly her temper rose at his criticism. “Perhaps,
Captain, but I had to try.”

“You might have been harmed.” There was concern in his eyes.
She hoped it was because he cared for her. But perhaps he only wanted to retain
his hostage.