It was disconcerting to have his thoughts echoed by a woman. This one, Nick was beginning to realise, was completely outside his experience as far as holding a conversation was concerned. Young ladies of rank were not raised to offer their opinions and, as far as married ladies were concerned, their exchanges with a duke covered social matters—they left politics, current affairs and anything that concerned science or finance to their husbands. And this was not even a well-bred debutante, this was a paid companion, and they were expected to be self-effacing, tactful and, so far as gentlemen were concerned, invisible.
But he would be closeted with Sarah Parrish for days and he could hardly ignore her. ‘I have been puzzling over what is behind this,’ Nick admitted. He got up and began to pace slowly up and down the cabin, suppressing a wince as his leg muscles protested.
Four paces one way, turn, four back, turn. It helped him to think and to quell the suicidal urge to kick down the flimsy cabin door and punch the first of the pirates he encountered.
‘I am quite certain they did not know who I was and you are quite correct: stealing the ship away would have been simplicity itself. Which means that there is something on board that they want and to sail early, or to remove it at the dockside, would have aroused suspicions.’
Sarah swung her feet down and sat forward, elbows on knees, chin on her clasped hands. It was hardly a ladylike posture. ‘I agree, the authorities are much more on their guard against the water pads and ark ruffians than they used to be.’ He must have looked askance at the cant that she used, because she added, ‘The water pads operate on the docks, the ark ruffians actually get on board ships to steal cargo, so Papa told me.’
‘What if those two men who were killed were not merchants, as they seemed, but guards for something?’ Nick said, digesting that. He looked at Sarah, puzzled by her calm, although the absence of hysterics, or swooning, was very welcome, if surprising. ‘What if something valuable is being shipped and they wanted to steal it well clear of London? They picked up extra hands in the Blackwater.’
‘If I was doing this, then I would want the men I most trusted with me to take away the prize, whatever it is, once it is landed,’ Sarah said, clearly working it out as she went along. ‘That means they need extra crewmen to sail the ship back to port, looking quite innocent.’ She seemed to ponder a moment, then she added, ‘Or, if I was them, I’d change the name of the vessel and put a new set of sails on her. She’s got very patched red ones now. A set of white ones would change the appearance of her quite significantly.’
‘It seems I am imprisoned with an expert mariner,’ Nick remarked.
The colour rose in Miss Parrish’s cheeks as though she suspected him of disapproving of her. He did, he realised. Well-bred young ladies did not display an acquaintance with dockside crime or the workings of ships. They did not sit in a locked room with a strange man with murderers outside the door and behave calmly and rationally.
‘You are related to the late Richard Parrish of the shipping company, are you not?’
‘He was my father. I have no wish to discuss him,’ she said flatly.
Nick told himself that a gentleman dealt courteously to all females and he must keep a rein on his tongue, even if trapped with one like this. He ignored the snub, and set aside his question. ‘So what can it be that is so valuable they will kill for it?’ he wondered aloud, not expecting an answer. After all, she had arrived at the ship at the same time he had and could have no idea. Still, talking it through would help keep her calm.
‘Perhaps it is in the large crate that was lowered down to this deck before we sailed,’ she mused.
‘What crate, Miss Parrish?’
‘Sarah,’ she reminded him. ‘You must still have been in your cabin. It was this size.’ She held out her hands to sketch a large cube. ‘It hardly fitted through the hatch. It was covered tightly in canvas, but stitches tore along one seam as they lowered it and I could see it was a well-made wooden box. Heavy too, from the way it landed.’
‘Not labelled, I suppose? Gold ingots, this way up, for example.’
‘No.’ She narrowed her eyes at his sarcasm, but did not retaliate. ‘However, there was a brand on the wood.’ Her brow furrowed with the effort of recollection and she closed her eyes.
‘What did it say?’
‘Shh. You are distracting me.’
People did not ‘shh’ a duke. Nick bit back the put-down that leapt to his lips and waited.
‘An R and a B and... Another B? No, the letters R B and R, that was it. The and was written as an ampersand.’ She sketched the shape in the air with one finger. ‘And there was another mark—I remember thinking it looked like a crown. Not very helpful, I am afraid,’ she added, opening her eyes.
‘You are mistaken. That is very helpful indeed.’ Nick crouched down to open the portable writing desk that had been tossed carelessly on to the floor after them when they had been locked into the cabin. The compartment for papers held the post that had arrived for him the day before he had left for the dock and he had tucked it in to look at more thoroughly on the journey. The bill he was searching for was at the bottom, smudged with the dirty fingers of the sailor who had checked the box for weapons. He unfolded it and handed it to Sarah Parrish.
‘The repair of a gold watch chain... Refixing a sapphire in a loose setting in a tie pin... A diamond-and-pearl cluster brooch.’ Her eyebrows rose, presumably at the sight of the total. She frowned, then looked at the engraved head of the bill. ‘Rundell, Bridge & Rundell. Goldsmiths and Jewellers to Their Majesties,’ she read slowly. ‘And there is the royal coat of arms. Oh, my goodness. Those are the initials I saw. You think it must be a consignment of valuables? Whatever can it be?’
‘Nothing for Their Majesties, at least,’ Nick said. He took back the bill, folded it and tucked it away again. There was no point in letting their captors know they might have guessed what was afoot by leaving it lying around. ‘But something of significant value is being sent. Not jewellery, not in a crate of that size. Something like a set of very opulent silverware perhaps—epergnes, platters. Or a new set of municipal regalia. It would explain the two guards. We do not even know the direction it was supposed to be going in.’
‘But on this shabby little ship?’
‘It would attract less interest,’ Nick said as he took his place at the end of the bunk again. ‘A bulky crate on an insignificant coastal trader? That would pass unnoticed, unlike land transport with armed outriders. Someone within the firm has obviously informed a criminal gang of what was intended to be a secret.’
‘I do not know why it should be the case,’ Sarah said, ‘but knowing why this is happening makes it somehow easier.’
‘Easier?’ Had this female ice water in her veins that she felt no fear, or was she so foolish that she did not realise the situation they were in? He had spoken with confidence about their rescue and release, but anyone with the slightest imagination could see that this could go very, very far wrong. Lethally so.
‘I mean, understandable,’ she explained. ‘We know who our enemy is and now we know what their motives are, what they stand to gain.’ She regarded him, head cocked to one side, and Nick found himself stiffening against the post at his back. People did not look at him like that, as though assessing him, judging him. ‘I imagine that whatever is in that case is very valuable, but now they have gained something worth even more in you, don’t you think?’
‘I imagine so. It would be a dinner service fit for the Regent to cost six thousand pounds.’ The gain of whatever was in that crate and the ransom money would be significant, he realised. Once that sank in, the temptation might be for Lockhart and his crew to hold on to them, to attempt to raise more money. But Fawcett was good, he reminded himself. Very good. The word ruthless might have been coined to describe him.
‘Do you think they intend to feed us?’ Sarah said, breaking into his less than comfortable thoughts about how their captors might choose to capitalise on the asset they represented. ‘I brought no food on board and we have no water, either, and none of us has had any breakfast.’
‘They might consider that keeping us hungry will render us more docile, but they cannot keep us without water for long, not if they expect to have live hostages at the end of it.’
He walked to the door and banged on it; then, when there was no response, kept up the tattoo until, eventually, a voice on the other side demanded to know what the devil he was about.
‘We require water and food for ourselves and our servants.’
‘All in good time.’ There were the faint sounds of bare feet moving away.
Perhaps ten minutes later there was a thump on the other side of the door. ‘Stand back!’
Nick moved to the bunk. He had no desire to provoke retaliation, not with two women to be considered. Not yet.
The door opened to reveal two sailors, one with a pistol. The other put a jug down. ‘That’ll last you today.’ Then he dropped a knotted cloth on the deck. ‘Breakfast and dinner. Just like your fancy Frenchie cook would make, Your Grace.’
Nick waited until the door was closed again, then carried jug and bundle over to the bunk and set the food on the stool. ‘I somehow doubt this contains lobster patties, a fricassee of veal and some lemon tartlets, but we can hope.’
‘So long as it is not those herrings again.’ Sarah untied the knot and revealed half a loaf, a hunk of cheese and a brown knobbly object. She prodded it cautiously with the tip of one finger. ‘What is that?’
‘Some kind of Continental sausage, I think.’ Nick managed to break it in half and took a cautious bite. ‘Better than it looks.’
‘They haven’t given us anything to drink from.’
Nick rummaged in his valise and produced a silver travelling cup that seemed to have escaped the searchers’ notice in its leather case.
Sarah set about dividing the food into two portions. ‘I think we should make it last for breakfast, luncheon and dinner,’ she said earnestly. ‘That will give us something to look forward to, as it were.’
She ate a third of her share and drank a beaker of water, grimacing at the taste. ‘I am sure they have never scrubbed out the casks.’ Then she took a handkerchief from her valise, poured a small amount of water onto it, and wiped her face and hands. ‘I think the sacrifice of a splash of water is worthwhile, don’t you? I am sure we will feel better for a little cleanliness.’
Nick thought that he would feel a lot better for the deep bathtub at his London house, Sicilian lemon soap and the long-handled back brush, followed by a close shave and clean linen, but he kept the thought to himself while he chewed his way through his breakfast, resolutely banishing fantasies of kidneys and bacon, kedgeree, beefsteaks and ale.
Sarah Parrish gathered up the remains of the food tidily and set it and the water jug to one side, then went to put the tumbled luggage in order.
‘All my things are in the other cabin. Do you think we could prevail on our captors to bring my valise in here and take your valet’s to him?’
‘I can try,’ Nick said. ‘I’ll give them a while. They have brought us food; they may be thinking we have been indulged enough for the present.’
She made a pleasing picture as she knelt on the deck, folding and tidying, her skirts swirled around her. A domestic scene painted by a Dutch master, perhaps, although with her dark hair, her slender height and those sherry-brown eyes she bore little resemblance to a plump Dutch huisvrouw. Sarah would pass as a society lady easily enough, he thought idly. If someone were to dress her well, style that heavy mass of hair in the latest fashion...
Sarah turned, still on her knees, and caught his gaze. Her colour rose, her eyebrows lifted and an indefinable coldness crept over her expression.
Damn. ‘My apologies. I did not intend to stare you out of countenance. I was pondering the best approach to persuade them to exchange some of the bags.’
‘Of course.’ But she finished her tidying with rather more haste and got to her feet, took a step towards the bunk, then changed direction and went to the porthole. ‘Do you think you could open this? I tried earlier, but it is too stiff for me. More light and air would be welcome and we might get a better idea of where we are, if we can see out properly.’
Sarah sidestepped neatly to allow Nicholas access to the porthole, then retreated to her end of the bunk. She felt hot and prickly under her skin and was not sure why. He had not been leering at her, or ogling, just studying her steadily, as though he had not seen a female like her before.
He probably hasn’t, she told herself. I do not expect he really notices servants, and that is what I must seem to him. But he is a gentleman. Or, at least, he has behaved like one so far, she corrected herself.
His language, when she caught the muttered swear word, was not particularly gentlemanly. ‘Is it giving you trouble?’ she enquired.
‘Merely a broken fingernail. I wonder if they have taken my manicure set?’
‘So that you may trim your nails?’
‘So I can scrape this hinge and catch and see if I can free it,’ he said with as much of a snap as she had yet heard in his voice.
Sarah searched through his newly ordered possessions and found it, with all its little implements intact. ‘Here you are.’
It took him ten minutes and, by the sound of it, another broken nail, but the porthole swung open at last, bringing with it a gust of salt-laden air and the rush of the waves against the side of the ship.
Constraint forgotten, Sarah pressed close to peer out. ‘We’ve moved further out to sea, but we are still heading northward. I was worried that he might be taking us across the Channel to drop off the cargo. I do not recognise the coast, though.’
‘Nothing that I would call a landmark, only low cliffs and sand. I do not know this part of the world. I assume this is still Suffolk.’
‘I think so. Of course, he may have turned and beaten south during the night, then turned again and it is Essex, but I don’t think so. Horsey is in Norfolk, I believe, so he will have to pass Great Yarmouth. Perhaps he feels safer here on this quiet bit of coast.’
‘Interesting that Lockhart does not sail on, unload the cargo he is intent on stealing and then go to Horsey Gap with us.’ Nicholas appeared to be thinking out loud, so Sarah kept quiet and let him ponder. ‘I can only assume that he is ultimately heading further north but knows Horsey is a safe place to make the exchange. I wonder—’
He broke off at the sound of raised voices from the cabin next door, a thud, a shout and, unmistakable, Millie’s voice raised in a screech that would have been envied by the fierce Billingsgate fishwives.
There was the pounding of running feet and their cabin door was thrown open. Lockhart looked in, a pistol in one hand, then he slammed the door and they heard his voice raised outside.
‘He didn’t lock it,’ Nicholas said, then, ‘Stop, you little fool!’
Sarah ducked past him, wrenched the door open and found herself in the passageway in the middle of what looked like the entire crew. She used her elbows, kicked an ankle and wriggled through to the door.
The young manservant, Pendell, was flat on his face on the deck with a thin trickle of blood running from beneath his shoulder. One of the sailors was slumped against the bulkhead, rubbing his jaw, and Millie stood in the middle of the cabin, the stool gripped by the leg in her small, determined fist.
‘Silence!’ Everyone stopped shouting. ‘Put that down, you hellcat,’ Lockhart said.
‘He tried to grab me.’ Millie brandished the stool towards the groaning sailor. ‘Said he fancied a bit. James here, he pushed him away and your man knifed him, so I hit him.’
‘If you have killed my man,’ said a silky-smooth voice from behind Sarah, ‘then you have thrown away one thousand pounds. And if my wife’s maid is damaged, I’m not prepared to pay you the agreed price for her, either.’