Currents (18 page)

They traveled in the opposite direction of the docks so they wouldn't be spotted. Stealing along the beaches wherever they could, they bent down low next to the bushes. But when the cliffs were too steep, they were forced to move along the paths that occasionally passed by a cottage. They were relieved that there were no lights on in any of them.

Finally reaching the path that led down to Singing Beach, they almost collapsed with relief when they saw Chap's boat bobbing just off the shore. They half ran, half slid down the rocky embankment to the beach.

Chap was motioning to them to hurry and frantically waving a lantern. If another boat passed by Singing Beach, they would be sure to remember that they saw Chap Harris's boat anchored off shore. Swept by crosscurrents, this was not a spot where any of the locals fished. If the
Land's End
were spotted, there would be questions.

“What will you do when you get to London?” Bess asked.

“I don't know, but something better than what I'd be doing in prison, half a world away.” He hugged her awkwardly with one arm. “Thank you, my Bess.” “Here. Here is Chap's key to the prison.” Bess pressed it in his hand. “Give it back to him. Oh, Harry,” she said. “I don't have any money to give you to help you when you get there.”

“I don't want any money from you,” Harry protested.

“Just wait. Please wait.” She ran over to the rock outcropping.

“I can't, Bess—I have to go.” He headed down toward the water. She reached inside the little cave and grasped the bottle with the cross and the slave's note inside. Running after him, she pressed it into his hand.

“Take this. I hid the cross here so Elsie couldn't steal it. It's real gold and pearls—you can sell it once you get to London for some money to tide you over.”

“Now!” Chap's rasp came over the black water. “Now, or I'm leavin' without you!”

“What about the note inside?” Harry asked, looking at the bottle.

“Agnes May has been cooped up in that cave long enough. It's high time she set off on another adventure. She'll be fine company for you.”

Chap had already started to pull up his anchor, and the water was slapping hard against the boat's hull.

“It's now or never,” he called out. “Come on, lad!”

Harry tucked the bottle inside his waistband and waded out to the boat, grabbing the edge and hanging perilously onto the side. For a moment it looked as though the boat had pulled away from him and Harry had been sucked under the inky water. Chap leaned over the side, plunged his hand in, and grabbed Harry's arm. Bess let out a gasp as she watched him yank Harry aboard. She could see he was drenched by the time he was hoisted up on to the
Land's End
, his clothes hanging off his lean frame. It occurred to her then that he had nothing else to wear.

Chap guided the boat carefully out of the cove and into the open channel. She knew Harry would be watching minutes later as the tops of the island houses he'd known all his life vanished into the ghostly clouds.

She stood on the beach, fingering the carved heart in her pocket and watching until the boat had disappeared.

“Take care of yourself, Harry,” she said softly.

Bess hoped that when the
Land's End
was close enough that they could see the lights of Portsmouth flicker in the distance, Harry would be able to relax a little. Chap could sail the waters between the island and mainland with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind him. He would drop Harry off, go do his usual fishing and pull in to the dock at the Isle of Wight with his catch just like he did every day. She had no idea what would become of a young boy brought up in the country trying to make it alone in the city. But it was out of her hands now. She hurried to get home before she was missed.

T
he next morning the talk on the island was about Harry Fletcher's escape from Parkhurst Prison during the night. The small police force, led by Constable Fletcher, searched the entire island and then searched it again. They combed the forests and inquired of the ferry routes to the mainland.

“Do you even know how he escaped?” Elsie demanded of the embarrassed constable when he came to report the incident to her personally. Bess stood quietly behind her stepmother.

“We do not, Your Grace. Perhaps he hid in a supply-delivery cart. We're checking with the suppliers now. But I knew you would want to know directly. I truly don't believe you have anything to fear from Harry.”

“I know, I know, Harry is a good boy,” she mocked. “Save for the fact that he's robbed us blind and is now on the loose, a desperate prison escapee, no less!”

“We'll find him, ma'am. We always find them,” the constable halfheartedly assured her. “No place to go on the island. He'll get hungry sooner or later.”

He turned to Bess. “Would you have heard anything from him? I mean, you two being friends and all? Did he say anything when you visited yesterday?”

“No. I have no idea, constable,” Bess replied flatly. “Blame an innocent boy for something he hasn't done and put him in prison. There's no telling what he'll do.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake.” Elsie threw her hands up and rolled her eyes. “Do you see what I have to endure?” she asked Alfie. “Anything, anything at all to defend this thief.”

A sad look passed between Alfie and Bess before Bess turned away and walked toward her bedroom.

“I give my word that we'll find him shortly, Your Grace,” Alfie said. “And we'll let you know as soon as we do. Put your mind at rest.”

Bess heard Elsie sigh heavily as she abruptly closed the door.

From her bedroom window, Bess watched poor old Constable Fletcher hop on his bicycle, his face as red as a plum as he pedaled off down the drive to search for Harry.

Two days later, Bess frantically scanned the front page of the
Island County Press
newspaper, which confirmed what islanders had been speculating:

When there was no word of Chap turning up anywhere, he was first presumed and then, two weeks later, declared dead.

A small memorial service was held on the island. Bess overheard the few fisherman friends of Chap's whispering among themselves about why a duke's daughter was in attendance.

Bess stopped going to the library for a while. She couldn't bear to pass by the dock and see a strange boat in Chap's old mooring. It was clear from island talk that Harry's parents blamed everyone at Attwood Manor for what they publicly insisted were ruinous lies that cost them their only child. They never believed Harry was guilty. They also refused to accept that he had died trying to escape the island. They lit candles weekly in Whippingham Church for their son. But after two months of intensive searching, it was assumed that Harry had either made it off the island or died trying.

No bodies ever turned up. Not Chap's. Not Harry's. After the first few weeks, Bess realized she might never know. But she prayed that maybe the stonemason's son might be safe—perhaps he was somewhere where he could find his own true north.

Three months after the sinking of the
Land's End
, Bess and Sarah were eagerly counting down the weeks until the Duke of Kent would return from Africa. Bess had carefully planned out the conversation she would have with her father when he returned to Attwood. She felt certain that he would believe her. He would have the resources to locate the dealer on Bond Street and verify that it was Elsie, not Harry, who was stealing from Atwood. But there was little she could do without him here.

There had been no word from him in over a month, but in his last letter he wrote that he would be in Zanzibar soon and he still expected to be back on the Isle of Wight by the first of March.

So when a letter with no return address arrived one day for Lady Bess Kent with the postmark too smeared to read, she tore it open expecting to find a note from her father. A single piece of paper with the letter S on the front fell out of the envelope. She flipped the sheet over. On the back it read, “S. For safe.”