Once Upon a Midnight Sea (25 page)

He watched as Preston and Weiss exchanged private words. Just as he suspected, something was amiss.

"I say, is Edmund with you?" Bromley shouted.

The two men stopped abruptly, but it was only after a pause that Charles answered. "Eh, he's below. A little seasick after the storm. Did you get caught in it as well?"

"Edmund Montague has never been seasick in his life," Bernard whispered.

"I dare say you're right," Bromley answered, moving his lips as little as possible. "I've never seen a time he wasn't on deck, giving orders."

"Something stinks," Bernard agreed. "And it surely isn't the fish."

"We're looking for Lady Luck," Charles called over. "We were separated in the storm. Edmund is ever so worried about his daughter."

"Miss Montague didn't mention anything of the sort," Bernard said with a soft snort.

"Nor did she seem at all concerned." Bromley peered through the looking glass, scanning the crew. He'd never seen any of them before. That he didn't recognize them wasn't particular, but that they were a seedy looking bunch of sinister types was what made them odd. Besides that hulking ignoramus John Locke whom Edmund used as a bodyguard, and a rather failed one at that, Montague hired only the most exceptional sailors and architects for his ships. Everyone knew that was how he justified the outrageous prices at which he sold his luxury vessels.

"Perhaps she's fleeing her marriage? After all, consider to whom she is betrothed."

"Yes. Hmm." Bromley thought back to the evening their first mate fell ill. What had that plump woman said to him? His head felt as though it were clogged with cheese.

"And that young first mate certainly has the face to enchant a young lady. By the how, I wonder if he survived?"

"I wonder indeed," Bromley said softly. He cleared his throat. "Why yes, we saw her in Habana," he called loudly. "Perhaps she was headed to San Felipe to hide out the storm?"

* * *

Edmund awoke to the sounds of shouting voices on deck. A softer answer carried from farther away. Someone on deck was conversing with another ship.

They'd anchored somewhere, he could tell Windfall sat in a still harbor or bay. A column of daylight poured through the tiny portal. Edmund dragged his aching body off the bunk and set his feet on the floor. How he wished he hadn't sat around in his infirmary chair feeling sorry for himself all those months, but had followed Miss Reynolds' orders to improve his muscles. The simple act of shuffling to the window sent spiking pains from his heels up through his backbone and all the way into his head.

Ticklish pain invaded his eyes as his pupils reacted to the sunlight. He blinked several times, forcing himself to endure. Yes! It was another ship, but he couldn't make out its name.

He turned and looked around his cabin. Perhaps he could force the portal open and wave a pillow linen as a flag. Fear made him reconsider. Charles Weiss had been unbelievably cruel, as though he enjoyed hurting people. Edmund was afraid what he would do next. He was already in enough pain.

His eyes caught John Lock's bottle of Parson's itch powder. He scrambled back to the bunks and began pulling open drawers until he found what he sought; a pencil nub.

Edmund tore the back page out of the worn leather bible. "Dear Lord, forgive me for this offense."

He hastily scribbled out a note, grateful his hand had not become as feeble as the rest of his body and he still possessed his elegant penmanship.

Edmund Montague held captive aboard Windfall by Charles and Preston Weiss. All aboard are dangerous. Send help
.

He stopped and considered the date. It must be June 30, or even July now. He closed his eyes and concentrated until his head hurt. Yes, it had been seventeen days since he'd been taken from the sanitarium.

He'd missed Adriana's birthday. A spike of longing seized his heart. If he didn't figure a way to save himself, he would never see her again.

Edmund poured out the remaining powder and wiped the inside of the bottle clean with the corner of his blanket. He placed the note inside and forced the cork in as tightly as he could, then took extra care to seal the bottle neck with candle wax.

He returned to the window and peered out. It was Tigress sitting across the bay. Blessed be, luck still shined on him! Bromley Ranklin and his son Bernard were good men.

He kissed the bottle, hoping his luck would last a little longer, and gently pushed it through the tiny portal window.

* * *

The afternoon sun sank so low it peered under the thatched roof of the cabana bar, burning Charles' back. He hated this time of day in the Caribbean, when the sticky heat lingered as though it were still high-noon but the sun hung at such an angle as to creep under every tree and canopy to glare in the eyes. It didn't fade here, either. No, the sun was just as bright at six in the evening as it was at two.

Charles grimaced as the thatched stool snagged at his polished cotton trousers. "Bourbon, if you please. Two fingers."

A million tiny birds crowded the trees, peeping incessantly. It was enough to drive a man mad. A brightly colored parrot behind the bar let out a screech shrill enough to kill all the barnacles dead off a ship's hull. Blast, but he hated the tropics.

When he got his hands on Adriana, he intended to show her how angry he was she'd forced him to make this trip. Windfall was by far the most luxurious ship he'd ever stepped aboard, but it was still just a ship, and he hated ocean travel.

The sweaty proprietor brought him a crudely crafted glass filled with what might be considered Bourbon in the lowliest hovels of Boston.

A high breeze wafted through the palms, loud and uncivilized and the flock of birds increased their rattle. Everything here was so...rough. How he longed for the sophisticated refinement of New York. He hadn't been to his family's Adirondack estate in almost a year.

At the far end of the makeshift bar, Tigress's grizzled captain watched him with an unnervingly steady gaze.

"Go check on the supplies," the man ordered his companion without removing his gaze from Charles.

"The natives are loading them up just fine. They know what they're doing."

The captain repeated his order, this time in a menacing tone, finally turning a glare on the man. With a sigh, his deckhand slugged back his drink and left.

"You lookin' for the Lady Luck, is ya?"

Charles bristled, and guarded himself.

"Heard you talkin' to Ranklin this morning."

"What of it?"

"How much is it worth to you to know where she's headed?"

As he turned on the stool, Charles' pants caught again. "She was here?" He knew it!

Threads popped as he rose. He made his way over, making certain to keep his demeanor casual.

"Could be." Tigress's captain was a seamy type Charles instantly disliked. Yet conveniently, such types could always be bought.

"I have twelve pounds and a few shilling."

The captain laughed a raspy chortle and turned his attention to the bird behind the bar. He slowly sipped his drink as if he had not a care in the world. "Fifty pounds."

"Good God, man, you are quite mad!" Charles' anger tightened, but held himself carefully in check.

The captain laughed again, a nauseating rattle. "I know where she's headed. But then again, I ain't the one who needs to know, am I?"

"Perhaps someone else here can tell me for a more affordable price."

"No one else saw her direction when she pulled out."

"Perhaps I'll just ask around."

"Well be that now," the captain said, mocking him with an exaggerated accent. "You do that."

Charles growled as he removed his billfold. "For God's sake. This is robbery."

"The price just went up. You got to buy me another drink, too."

"Gah! Bartender." He jabbed a finger at the crudely melted glass that served as a tumbler.

Charles handed over the money. Tigress's captain smiled a blackened grin as he tucked it into his lapel. "The little lady told Ranklin she couldn't take him to Rio on account of she was headed home, by way of Florida. But when she set out..."

"Yes, yes, when she set out?" He waved his hand to demonstrate his dwindling patience.

"She turned southeast."

"When?"

The captain shrugged. "Don't rightly remember."

In truth, that would simply cost more. But Charles had no more money with him. "How long have you been here?" he asked in a level tone.

"Nine days." The captain looked at the bottom of his glass, then downed the remainder. "Nine miserable days."

Charles considered his newly learned information carefully. "South, eh. What does that mean to me?"

"Ya ain't a sailor, is ya?"

"How very observant of you." Charles blew an angry breath through his nostrils. "Tell me why this is significant."

"Awe, hell. I'll give ya this one for free. If'n she was heading back to the states, she would turn north and let the wind do most of the work. If'n she's headed south, she'd have to tack east and fight the current. Seems to me she'd only do that if she's not really heading north. Of course, I'm not as smart as ya high-borns, now, am I?"

"Why would Adriana be heading south?" He spoke the question aloud, but it was more to himself than this brittle old lobster.

The captain narrowed his eyes. "Why do you want to find her, anyway?"

"Just never you mind that." He tucked his billfold back into his waistcoat. "Doyle, ready the boat. We're going back to the ship."

Charles sat in the rear of the shore boat as his man rowed them back to Windfall.

Adriana had certainly set out as fast and far as possible to escape him. She must have learned the truth about R.L.W. Steel. But what was she doing in the Windward Islands? There were so many places she could run...

Yet he'd anticipated them all. Charles bit down on a bitter grimace. Little Miss Adriana was smart. She knew he would look for her in every one of the posh havens her father owned. That was precisely why she didn't go to Nova Scotia or New Orleans.

She must be headed around the cape, perhaps to San Diego or San Francisco. She didn't risk heading through the gulf to Galveston to catch a train because she suspected he'd be looking for her in Louisiana.

The little witch was smart, but not smart enough. When he got his hands on her...

Something caught Charles' attention. The lagoon was littered with rubbish from the storm, but this looked different.
Purposeful
.

It appeared to be...yes, a bottle bobbed with the tide, headed straight for the shore boat. As his lazy deckhand rowed as slowly as if he were dead, Charles reached over and snatched it up.

It was an old bottle of Parson's itch powder, but its neck had been sealed with wax. Charles picked the wax away and pulled out the cork. He withdrew the paper inside and read it.

What he discovered should have made his anger boil hotter, but his mood had improved with the news of Lady Luck's whereabouts.

"What is it?" Preston asked as Charles stepped on deck earlier than expected. "Where are the supplies? We need that tiller block. Until we repair the gears, our navigational capabilities are impaired."

"Ranklin lied, Lady Luck was here. She set out due south, possibly several days ago. If we do not leave immediately, we won't catch her." He handed his brother the note from the bottle and started below. "Put Montague on half rations."

Chapter Twenty-One

As he came aroused, Christian recognized subtle sounds he'd learned while on Lady Luck. Water pushed up by the bow splashed down on the ocean's surface with an urgent rhythm. The sails snapped crisply against the pull of the wind. Lady Luck didn't just rock, she lunged. They were moving, and at a strong pace.

But where?

He opened his eyes and blinked away grainy dryness. Adriana sat beside the bed. She reached for a cup on a tray beside the bed, and froze when she saw him. Her eyes glistened as she smiled. "Merciful heavens, you're awake."

He tried to speak, but managed only a hoarse whisper.

"Here, drink." She brought the cup to his lips. Whatever it was, it tasted awful, yet distantly familiar.

"I presume this was your way of getting out of your share of the work," she said lightly.

"Wh- what happened?"

"You were sick. Malaria, we think. A viable excuse, I suppose."

"How charitable of you." He cleared his throat. "I'll try not to let it happen again." He struggled to a sitting position, but thought better of it when his head began to spin. His limbs were so heavy for a moment he thought his feet were bound. He glanced down. No chains, he was happy to discover.

"I deduce that I am lucky I didn't awaken in prison."

"You can thank Mrs. Ling that you awakened at all." The happiness her expression possessed vanished. She stood and smoothed down her dress. "You are a thief, Mr. De la Croix. You lie, cheat and steal. It is understandable that you expect those around you to be similarly untrustworthy. But I thought I had proven I am better than that."