A Woman Made for Sin (17 page)

Millie sat quietly and listened. She offered no words, sensing Evette wanted neither
sympathy nor condolences. “And Madame Sasha? How did you come to meet and live with
her?”

“I heard rumors a great singer was coming to Manchester and snuck in to listen to
her sing.”

Shocked, Millie asked with her mouth partially full, “Madame Sasha was a
singer
?”

Evette nodded. “A very good one. Anyway, someone must have seen me, because I got
caught. They were about to beat me and send me away for not paying, when Madame Sasha
saw what was happening and rescued me.” Evette smiled and let go a small chuckle as
she remembered. “Told them that I was her new seamstress.”

“Were you?” Millie asked, tearing off a piece of bread. “A seamstress, I mean.”

“Oh goodness, no, and I said as much. But she just looked at me and said that I’d
better learn enough to pretend the part if I wanted to keep it. I was starving, and
for the first time since I could remember, someone was offering to help me. That was
three years ago.”

“It seems Madame Sasha makes a habit of saving lives. She saved yours, then mine,
and now, with her help, I hope we can find Aimee.”

“Your life?”

Millie pointed at the small revolver lying on top of her cloak. “She was the one who
gave me that.”

Evette stood up and took her bowl and Millie’s back to the tray. “For some reason,
she believes in you. She always has.”

The tension in Evette’s voice was unmistakable. It almost sounded like she was jealous.
But that made no sense. Millie had known Madame Sasha for only a few months. Evette
had known her for years. “Well, you have learned the part well. Have you your own
clientele?”

Evette’s back straightened and she pursed her lips. “Madame Sasha has said I have
yet to prove myself.” Millie wondered to herself,
How does one go about proving oneself ?
when Evette answered her thoughts. “All I need is one client. Then I can show Madame
Sasha what I can do and she will acknowledge that I really am a seamstress.”

Millie decided a change of subject was needed. “I know others in the house will want
to know who I am and why I am there, but please do not say anything about Aimee. It’s
one thing to risk my reputation, but I do not want to risk hers.”

Evette motioned for Millie to sit down so that she could help undo her braids. “I
like Lady Aimee. I would never do anything to hurt her and I truly hope you find her.”

Once her hair was undone, Millie gestured for Evette to sit and let her return the
favor. They had both undressed to their shifts when Evette picked up a blanket off
the bed. “You take the bed. I’ll sleep in front of the fire.”

Millie stopped her before she could take another step. “We will share the bed.”

Evette measured her with a cool, appraising look. “You may be pretending to be Ellie,
but you and I both know the truth. You are a marchioness, not my cousin, and I am
not going to pretend that you are my equal.”

Millie rolled her eyes, snatched the blanket out of Evette’s hands, and tossed it
on the bed. “Do not tell me
you
believe such nonsense. During most of the ride today you were either hinting that
I am a fool for leaving my pampered life or making it clear that you consider me an
idiot for thinking I could pretend to be part of the working class.”

Evette blanched, but Millie continued, spreading the blanket out on the bed. “Now
I must admit that most of Society would not appreciate such candor, but then neither
would they have fought madmen, drowned a traitor, tended to their shot husbands, or
sought to rescue their friend by attempting to work on the docks. I am not most women.”
Millie paused to look Evette in the eye. “You and I may have been born to different
roles in this life and endured different burdens, but I have never thought myself
above anyone. And as far as I know, neither have Aimee or Jennelle. We judge others
by their actions, not their wealth or titles. I think you do the same, otherwise Madame
Sasha would not trust you and sent you to help me. So choose a side. Left or right.”

Evette stood motionless for several seconds. Finding her voice she said, “I . . .
I prefer the left.”

Millie smiled and pulled back the covers. “Then I shall enjoy the right.”

Evette grimaced and joined her in the bed. “Enjoy? Not sure about that. Remember—these
are the inn’s sheets—not yours.”

Millie wiggled her toes, feeling the coarse linen. She had slept outside, in caves,
and many other uncomfortable spots. The feel of the rough sheets did not bother her
overmuch, but they were a stark reminder that she was leaving her old world behind.
A world with Chase.

Millie closed her eyes, and like every night since they had parted, she wished she
were home, in his arms, and able to tell him just how much she loved him, knowing
she was loved in return.

October 20, 1816

Collins twisted his mouth humorlessly. His inability to find anyone he needed was
getting to be more than just frustrating. It was damn infuriating. It was one thing
for the seamen to be distracted, but now it was his idlers who had disappeared.

Tomorrow they would turn west and more than likely encounter at least one good storm
before they reached Savannah harbor. They were not ready. He and Kyrk had completed
a brief inspection of the sails earlier that morning and found some problems, one
of which was going to need some help from the carpenter to ensure it was secured properly.
Collins had no intention of waiting, and wanted the idlers to begin working immediately.
With specialized skill sets, the two sailmakers and carpenter did not have to stand
regular watches, but that did not give them leave to disappear.

When Collins had asked the bosun where they were, the man had been blunt in his reply.
He had no idea where they were and it wasn’t his job to know, but the chief mate’s
. . . something he thought Collins claimed to be.

Collins went down the companionway and prayed that what his gut was telling him was
not true. That wherever he found his three idlers, he would also find a tall, green-eyed
blonde. Turning right, he went down another set of stairs into the lower hold in the
aft part of the ship where cargo was usually stored. He was almost there when he could
hear Ray talking about something gruesome and sighed in relief. He had not only located
his missing men—they were alone.

As a seasoned carpenter, most of Art Rayburn’s stories dealt with woodwork, and all
of them were full of grisly details about how some limb or extremity was mangled.
The one he was telling now Collins had heard before, and was especially macabre. Something
about how a doctor tried to sew a man’s thumb back on, but did so backwards.

He was just about to step inside and ask how the story was going to end this time,
when he heard a soft voice gasp. A second later, a familiar feminine voice said with
far too much interest in the horrific story, “Alas, if only I had been available to
help.”

Collins clenched his fists and stared at the wood planks above him.
What was I thinking? Of course she would be with them.

“You, miss?” Ray asked incredulously.

“Indeed, Mr. Rayburn. I am far from exemplary with a needle, but I am sure I could
sew an appendage back on so that it faced the right direction.”

Collins took in a deep breath.
Mr
. Gilbert,
Mr
. Miller,
Mr
. Willnon,
Mr
. Stuart,
Mr
. Solomon and now
Mr
. Rayburn. She spoke to all the men like they were fine gentlemen who had joined her
for tea. And Ray was far from a gentleman.

He had spent most of his youth in Liverpool, but his Irish ancestry was evident in
his dark red beard and the wild hair that covered his body. Collins had never seen
a man hairier than Ray, and he hoped he never would. But the carpenter was not just
Irish in looks, the man had a temper as well. Strong, wide, and thickset, Ray loved
a good fight. He had been kicked off more than one boat for onboard scuffles. Yet
he had a rough but steady code of ethics. Once a man earned his trust and respect,
Ray would be loyal to them until his dying breath.

Collins stood still, trying to think when he heard the distinct melancholic Scandinavian
accent of Lamont Poulsen. “I tink te man was drunk.”

“Probably not even a doctor.”

Collins grimaced. That had been Lamont’s brother Shiv Poulsen, the second of the
Sea Emerald
’s two sailmakers.

“Mr. Heilsen!” Aimee called out gleefully. “Please come look, for I do believe I found
another one.”

Just where am I?
Collins asked himself. He felt as if he were frozen in limbo, where all people had
mysteriously transformed into someone else. There was no other explanation. Kyrk Heilsen
never
allowed anyone to call him by his last name, except other Scandinavians because they
were the only ones who knew how to pronounce it properly.

Unable to stomach any more surprises, Collins removed all expression from his face
and walked into the room. He took in the scene before him and had only one thought.
I’m not about to lose control. I’ve already lost it.

A large sail covered the floor and was draped high over the barrels and boxes that
had been stacked in each corner. A Poulsen brother was at each end, moving in opposite
directions to examine the sail’s hem, inch by inch. They had been listening, but it
was clear they were also focused on their task.

On the other side of the sail was Aimee, who was standing on an unstable barrel. To
keep her from falling as the ship rocked, Ray was holding her hips. Right next to
her, standing on another barrel, was Kyrk Heilsen, who was leaning in close to see
what had made her shout out with joy.

Never in his imagination—never in his worst nightmare—could Collins have conjured
what he was seeing.

Next to himself and the captain, Kyrk was the best sailor on board. He was young,
but the Scandinavians had the sea in their blood, and Kyrk had known since childhood
just what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

His first job on the
Sea Emerald
had been cabin boy, during which time he began to idolize the captain, imitating
him however he could. He kept himself clean, took pride in his work, was willing to
learn, and had eventually become a highly skilled rigger. The men respected him and
listened to him, making Kyrk an exemplary second mate. But most of all, he had been
immune to Aimee’s charms.

He had told Collins that he had a job to do overseeing the supplies, the sails, and
the seamen while he was on duty, and he had no time for her. So it had seemed natural
to put him in charge of the night shift, and it had worked. Kyrk kept his distance
from Aimee and all had been fine . . . or as close to fine as Collins could expect
under the circumstances.

Just what in the hell had happened?

Unable to see just what Aimee was pointing at, Kyrk stepped onto her barrel. His whole
body was now practically touching hers as he leaned in close to take a better look.
A second later, he stepped back and gave her an infectious grin. “Ah, Lady Aimee,
are you sure you do not have Scandinavian blood in your veins?
Fan
, if you are not right. Shiv, come here and take a look. I need you to take care of
this and any others she finds.” Then Kyrk winked at Aimee. “I’m going to have a talk
with the chief mate about keeping you around. As the only rigger, I could use some
backup.”

Aimee’s grin grew even more devastating, and she was unaware of the captivating picture
she made when she smiled. “Just remember, Mr. Heilsen, this makes the third one I’ve
found. You promised.”

Kyrk shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll keep my promise, but only if you find something
else to wear besides a skirt.”

Collins stood there in shock. No one yet had noticed him, but he doubted it would
have made any difference. He had no idea why Kyrk told this obviously genteel noblewoman
to wear pants—at least that was what Collins hoped he meant. And he wasn’t sure that
he actually wanted to know the reason why, for he knew in his gut the answer would
take years off his life.

“I already have something,” Aimee promised, as Ray helped her to jump down off the
barrel. “I’ll leave now to find Gus and see where he put the things I wore aboard.”
She turned to leave. “Mr. Collins! I did not know you were standing there!”

Collins crossed his arms, hoping he appeared more authoritative than he felt. It did
not help when all four men looked up but refused to look guilty. It confirmed what
he already knew. He was not losing control. He had lost it a long time ago.

His whole crew had deserted every rule he had laid out. No longer did Aimee’s injuries
worry Collins. It was the men and her effect on them. Everyone who met her fell under
her spell. When the captain finally did find out about her, it would not be the injuries
to her wrists that would anger him the most—it would be his crew, the moment the captain
saw how they looked at her. After all this, they might still find themselves stranded
in Savannah, hoping to find a post on another ship.

“I thought you were going to have dinner tonight with Mr. Hamilton.”

“Damn,” Collins muttered. She was right. At least he could tell the captain that the
idlers were already working on the sails, preparing them for the storms.

Reece waved at Collins to come in and sit down. JP had just dropped off dinner and
tonight’s fare looked to be a good meal. The cook usually waited a little longer before
killing one of the chickens, but Reece was glad he did not delay this time. He needed
the break from salt beef and hardtack.

Collins sat down and started in on his meal. He looked exhausted and no doubt was.
Being chief mate was hard enough, but when it included the burden of keeping the men
contained when there was a woman on board, it could seriously strain one’s nerves.
Reece knew he could step in, but he also knew that the chief mate was an able sailor
and leader. If he did not want the men to ever bring aboard another woman, then Collins
would prevent it from happening.

“Waves are picking up,” Reece offered, hoping to spur some sort of conversation.

“Storm brewing. Bound to go through one this far south.”

Reece nodded and swallowed the piece of meat he had been chewing. “We turn west tomorrow.
There’s a chance it will go south of us.”

Collins scowled and stabbed a potato with his fork. “Trust me. We aren’t that lucky.”

Reece almost wanted to laugh at his chief mate’s surliness. Nothing more needed to
be said. Reece was now positive a woman was not only on board, but the source of Collins’s
irritable disposition. “Well, if you’re right and we are not lucky, then in a few
days it will finally get exciting on board. It’s been a little dull around here lately.
What do you think?”

Collins squirmed and kept his focus on his food. “Guess it all depends on your point
of view,” he finally muttered.

Reece knew he should give his second-in-command a break, but it was just so rare to
see Collins—a man almost as unflappable as himself—fidget in discomfort. “Not just
mine,” Reece said, keeping his tone lackadaisical. “The crew as well. Or haven’t you
noticed how strange their behavior has been?”

Collins’s face contorted.

“When was the last time men shaved in the middle of a voyage?”

Reece watched his chief mate’s jaw grow considerably more tense.

“And I wouldn’t say any of them smell good, but I noticed our onboard water level
has dropped more than usual. Are some of the men actually bathing?”

Collins still kept quiet, but Reece knew that a woman on board usually inspired the
men to take cleaning themselves a little more seriously than usual.

“But what has me really perplexed is the singing. I like my men to be happy, but I
know something is up when the bosun isn’t complaining about having to stop a continuous
stream of fights, but about having difficulty getting men for the
day
shifts. Seems the night shift has become quite popular.”

Collins’s shoulders sank and he dropped his fork. He raked his scalp hard. The man
looked like he was both relieved and panic-stricken. “You know.”

Reece leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “God, Collins, I’m not a fool.
Of course I know you brought a woman aboard. And she must be one hell of chit too.
None of the others lasted this long before some kind of hell broke loose on the ship.”

Collins lost all expression and it made Reece only more curious. “So who brought her
on board?”

Collins snorted. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“So what’s she doing? By now the other females you took on board were getting pretty
anxious to get back on land.”

Collins rolled his eyes as if he actually wished he had that problem. “She’s been
trying to learn everything she can about the ship. She understands she cannot do the
jobs, but she still insists on learning what there is to do and how to do it.”

That information caught Reece by surprise. In a way it was refreshing to learn that
at least one woman out there was interested in learning about ships and sailing, but
it also was disturbing. Sailing was dangerous. There was not a job on the ship that
did not carry some risks, and some of them were just plain perilous. “Why not send
her to JP so she can learn about cooking? That’s something women can do.”

Collins looked Reece dead in the eye and shook his head. “You know JP.”

“Couldn’t even take a step in the kitchen, eh?”

Reaching back, Collins linked his fingers behind his head. “Oh, JP let her in. Let
her cook a little while too. But as I said, her interests lie not with the domestic
chores, but with the ship.”