Chapter Six

THE CARRIAGE RACED THROUGH THE SILKY NIGHT, leaving the brilliantly lit mansions of Mayfair and Bel-grave Square, with the strains of Mozart and the scent of blossoms and richly spiced food wafting upon the still summer air. After a time the glittering manors gave way to tenement buildings, their crumbling walls oozing the harsh sound and stench of human misery. Children cried while men and women brawled drunkenly, the ugly din resonating through the stink of sewage, boiled cabbage, and spoiled meat, and the smoky pall of thousands of braziers and grease lamps.

Amelia sat hunched within the folds of her evening gown. She could not bring herself to look at Jack, who sat opposite her in grim silence, stripping away the white tufts of hair that covered his head, brows and cheeks before rubbing at the chalky mask of his wrinkled face with a damp cloth. Instead she stared out her carriage window, overwhelmed by the ramifications of what she had just done, and the crude, unfamiliar world now unraveling before her.

Despite the late hour, the streets in which Oliver steered the carriage were teeming with activity. Drunken men and women stumbled from the taverns with heavy, dripping bottles pressed against their rotting mouths. Roars of laughter and outrage filled the night as the men clumsily groped their heavily painted female companions, who tolerated the mauling of their breasts and slobbering against their lips with weary enthusiasm.

Prostitutes, Amelia realized, shocked.

She swallowed thickly. Just the previous day she had been destined to marry Lord Whitcliffe. Had she gone through with it, she would have been required to lie in his bed that very night—in exchange for the title and privileges she would have gained as his wife. She had railed and wept bitterly over her betrothal, but until the moment she decided to scramble out the window and down the church wall, she had all but accepted her fate. As hopeless as she had believed her situation to be, it could not compare to the desperate circumstances of the ragged, half-starved women on the streets before her.

She stared at her exquisite gown, feeling small and ashamed. She had never known what it was to be hungry to the point of pain, or shivering without any hope of finding shelter, or ill without the comfort of a soft, clean bed and the attention of servants and a reputable doctor. She knew nothing whatsoever about the dreadful lives these women were forced to endure. Even when she had dared to run away from her marriage, she had done so expecting to marry Percy and live a life of comfort as the esteemed wife of an English lord.

How could she possibly judge these women for what they did when she had no comprehension of the wretched nature of their lives?

“Turn down that alley, Oliver.” Jack’s expression was hard as he stared out the back window at the street behind them.

“ ’Tis best to keep goin’, lad,” Oliver barked over the clatter of the carriage wheels. “They couldna have started too quick after us, an’ they’re nae expectin’ us to take Miss Amelia through a nasty puddle o’ scum like this. They’re still prowlin’ about Mayfair, most like, thinkin’ to find her hidin’ in one of their mansions.”

“If no one is following us, then it won’t matter if we lose a few minutes,” Jack insisted. “Stop the carriage over there.”

His tongue clacking with exasperation, Oliver reluctantly turned the horses down the alley Jack indicated.

“There now, ye see?” The old man scowled. “We’re beggin’ to have our throats cut sittin’ here, with Miss Amelia flashin’ all those bleedin’ diamonds. We should just keep—”

He stopped, startled by the elegant black carriage that suddenly tore down the very street from which they had just turned. A stinging torrent of foul words erupted as drunken men and women scrambled out of the way to avoid being crushed beneath the expensive vehicle’s heavy wheels.

“Percy!” Amelia gasped.

“I believe he’s with your devoted brother William,” observed Jack dryly.

“But how would they know to look for me here?”

He shrugged. “He and Percy probably set out as quickly as they could and asked people if they had seen a carriage matching this description hurrying down the streets. Once they established which direction we were headed, they likely concluded the quickest way for you to get out of London is by ship. That’s why they’re going toward the docks.”

“And where are we going?”

“That depends. Do you have any relatives here beyond your immediate family, Amelia? Someone who would be willing to take you in?”

She shook her head. “I have no family here, other than my parents and brothers. They are all in America.”

Jack had suspected as much. “If I got you back to America, is there anyone there with whom you might stay? An aunt or uncle, perhaps, or even a close cousin?”

“None of my relatives would ever incur my father’s wrath by letting me stay with them against his wishes. It isn’t that they wouldn’t wish to help me,” she quickly qualified. “It’s just that my father has been very generous to all of them over the years—he bought many of them their homes, or gave them jobs in his company. They have a deep sense of loyalty to him….”

“They would be afraid that if they took you in he would cut them off,” Jack finished succinctly.

“Yes.”

“Fine. What about friends? Do you have any friends whose parents didn’t have their homes purchased by your father, and who don’t happen to also work for him? Someone who would be willing to give you shelter for a while, until you sort out what it is you want to do?”

Amelia thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. The only friends I’ve ever made have been through social affairs that my parents have either planned or taken me to—and that generally means that their fathers have some business connection with mine. Of course they might be willing to put that at stake, but I have no way of knowing for certain. I might turn to one of them for help, only to discover they felt compelled to contact my parents and let them know where I am. Then my mother would simply pack me onto the next steamship back to London.”

Jack sank back in his seat. A dull throbbing had started at the base of his skull.

“Couldn’t I just stay for a while at your parents’ house here in London?” Amelia regarded him hopefully. At least London was familiar to her, and she felt at ease around Beaton and Lizzie, who had been so kind in helping her to prepare for her ill-fated meeting with Percy. “I promise I won’t be any trouble—”

“It’s too dangerous for you to remain in London, Amelia,” Jack said flatly. “Your face will be on the front page of every newspaper by tomorrow morning—or evening at the very latest—along with the details of the enormous reward your family is sure to offer for your return. You won’t be able to so much as stick your head out a carriage window or open your mouth and reveal your American accent without someone chasing after you. We have to get you out of here.”

“Why don’t we just take the lass home with us?” asked Oliver.

“No.”

He frowned. “Why not? Ye’ve just said yerself she canna stay here, and she’s nae kin to go to in America. I’m sure Miss Genevieve would be pleased to have her.”

“She is not going to Genevieve’s, Oliver. I don’t want her or Haydon involved in this.”

“Right, then. She can stay at your house. Ye’re scarcely there anyway.” Oliver winked at Amelia, pleased that he had solved the problem.

“Where do you live?” asked Amelia.

“I have a very small house in Inverness,” Jack admitted reluctantly, “but it isn’t suitable…”

“ ’Tis warm and dry and pleasin’ enough, if ye dinna mind the sight of a lot o’ ships an’ swords an’ strange lookin’ masks all around ye,” Oliver interjected. “Once we get a fire goin’ an’ brush some o’ the dust out, I’m sure ye’ll find it cozy.”

“I’m sure I will, Oliver,” she said with forced cheer. “It sounds lovely.”

She didn’t want to go to Inverness. She had never been to Scotland, but everyone in London spoke of how bleak and gray and cold it was there, and how the people were rough and unrefined. All she wanted in that moment was to go home. To her father’s beautifully appointed mansion on Fifth Avenue in New York, which boasted acres of polished marble and soft velvet and was fitted with all the latest amenities in hot-water plumbing and electric light. Or to the sunny estate her family owned in Newport, where she and her brothers had played every summer for as long as she could remember. The weather was gloriously warm and breezy there in August, and there were all kinds of splendid picnics and boating parties and lively balls to attend. She shivered, despite the warmth of the night and the heavy mantle of her gown. She had foolishly believed she was gaining her freedom when she tore out of that ballroom with Jack.

Without money, she was swiftly discovering, there was no freedom.

“I won’t impose upon your hospitality for very long,” she assured Jack, aware that he was not pleased that she was going to be his guest. “I shall try to make other arrangements for my lodging as soon as I can.”

Jack said nothing. In truth, he had no idea what was to become of her. Amelia was suddenly in an extremely untenable position. She no longer had any marriage prospects. Given her sheltered existence and lack of marketable skills, he couldn’t imagine that she would ever be able to find a job and support herself. By tomorrow all of England and Scotland would be looking for her because of the enormous reward her capture represented. Amelia Belford’s life had been turned completely upside down, and he had helped her to heave it over.

Now what the hell was she supposed to do?

“You can stay at my house, for as long as you need to,” he told her. “It’s not fancy, but it’s comfortable enough.”

“Thank you.”

He rubbed his temples, fighting the pain pounding across his skull. “Your father will undoubtedly have the police monitoring every road from London and searching every train,” he reflected grimly, “so the only safe way to get you out is to put you on one of my ships.”

She regarded him in surprise. “Do you own a fleet, then?”

“The lad has his very own shipping line.” Oliver’s aged face beamed with pride. “No doubt ye’ve heard of the North Star Shipping Company?”

Amelia shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Really?” The old man looked disappointed. “Oh, well—’tis just a matter of time. Our Jack here has loved the sea since he was but a stripling, and is makin’ quite a name for himself in the British shippin’ industry.”

“Really?” Amelia regarded Jack with genuine admiration. “You didn’t mention that.”

Jack shrugged, disliking the way Oliver was exaggerating. He owned a grand total of five ships, one of which was currently undergoing extensive repairs and was therefore not seaworthy, and one of which was a clipper ship and in little demand. “You never asked me what I did.”

“When I asked Lord Whitcliffe about how his family made their fortune, he was shocked,” Amelia explained. “He told me that in England a lady doesn’t enquire about business affairs. It’s considered vulgar. It’s different in America, of course. At home men love to talk about their businesses and their investments with anyone who will listen. My father adores regaling people with his story about how he started as an impoverished farm boy and then went to the city and started his own railway line, which is now one of the biggest in the country.” She smiled fondly. “The toes of his feet are bent from having to squeeze them into the worn-out shoes of his older brother. With nine children to feed and clothe, there were no new shoes to be had. If he has too much to drink, Papa removes his shoes to show people, much to their horror. My mother has to run over and stop him. Mother hates it when he tells that story. She likes to pretend that she and my father came from very wealthy families—which isn’t true. She was the daughter of a poor greengrocer, but she’d rather die than admit that to anyone.”

“There’s nae shame in bein’ poor,” observed Oliver. “There’s oft more shame in bein’ rich.”

“I thought things were different in America,” Jack remarked. “That people didn’t measure you by whether you were born poor, but only by what you made of yourself in your lifetime.”

“It is different there,” Amelia assured him. “But people still take notice of how old one’s wealth is—not by hundreds of years, of course, but whether it’s first- or second- or third-generation. Here the men tell you about their ancient estates and illustrious pedigrees. They even boast about some illegitimate ancestor who was supposedly sired by royalty. But ask them about their business affairs and they act as if you were trying to uncover some dreadful family secret.”

“That’s because so many of them are suffering financially,” explained Jack. “And few of them are willing to work and try to make a new fortune on their own. They would rather sit around the Marbury Club drinking themselves into a stupor, hoping some wealth falls into their laps.”

“Like marrying an heiress.” Amelia shook her head ruefully. “You must think I’m a terrible idiot, for having believed in Percy.”

Jack said nothing.

“I was an idiot,” she admitted with painful candor. “But my father always says, there’s no shame in making mistakes, as long as you learn from them.”

“A stumble helps ye to right yer fall,” added Oliver philosophically. “An’ if ye ne’er stumbled, how would ye learn to walk?” He chuckled. “Our Jack here stumbled so often, Miss Genevieve was always frettin’ he would end up in jail—or worse. ’Twas only by luck and her fierce will that the lad managed to stay a step ahead of the law—that an’ his uncommonly fast feet. One time, when he was about fifteen, he and the other children decided to fleece a wee shop in Inveraray—”

“It’s time we headed out,” Jack interrupted brusquely. “Lord Philmore and your brother have probably figured out by now that we didn’t go to the river, and are looking for us elsewhere.”

Amelia bit her lip. “But what if they’re still there?”

“Dinna worry, lass—I can turn this old carriage around and slip ye into the shadows quick as a whip,” Oliver assured her. “Did I nae just tuck ye nice an’ safe into this alley?”

“You did.” Amelia smiled. “That was very clever of you, Oliver.”

“Why, thank ye, lass,” he said, beaming. “When we reach Inverness, I’ll show ye how ye can slip away from trouble with trouble nae the wiser. ’Tis a skill I’m fairly good at, if I do say so myself. Who do ye suppose taught the lad here about wearin’ such a fine disguise?”

“It was thoroughly convincing,” Amelia told him. “When Jack took my hand and started to dance, I thought one of Lord Wilkinson’s servants had gone completely mad!”

“She won’t be going anywhere where she needs to slip away,” Jack said firmly.

Oliver scratched his head. “Well, that’s fine then. But if the lass learns a trick or two from me, where’s the harm in that?” He winked conspiratorially at Amelia, then snapped the reins, setting the carriage in motion before Jack could answer.

 

THE THAMES RIVER WAS A BROAD BLACK RIBBON OF choppy cold water, its edges littered with ships groaning and straining against thick, brine-soaked ropes that tethered them to the docks. The river was a forbidding abyss of dark secrets, a churning reservoir of murky water and sea life fighting to survive amidst the fetid flow of the sewers that leeched the filth of London’s population through a decaying maze of rotting brick and clogged drains. Several of Amelia’s suitors had treated her to carriage rides along the Thames on bright afternoons, where the sun had glinted upon its smoky blue waters like a golden shower. She had thought it beautiful then. Tonight she found it ominous and forbidding, its brackish stench filling her nose and throat until she thought she would gag with revulsion.

“Here we are, then,” said Oliver, easing the carriage to a halt. “Nae amiss—only the dredgers at work.” He indicated a small, battered boat bobbing slowly across the rough surface of the water. Two men stood at the back of the craft, feeding a trawling net into the inky depths.

Jack leapt down from the carriage and raked the darkness with his gaze. Huddled about the docks between massive walls of barrels and crates were the sleeping, snoring men, women, and children who had not secured shelter in one of the city’s thousands of common lodging houses, or “padding-kens.” The night was warm, which made sleeping in the open with the relatively fresh air of the docks preferable to being crammed into a squalid room of thirty or more unwashed bodies. There one paid for the privilege of sharing a vermin-infested bed with as many strangers as could be squeezed in it, or collapsing onto a “shakedown,” a greasy, bug-ridden bundle of rags on the floor crammed into the narrow spaces between the beds. In each room there was a single rusted tub overflowing with an unspeakably foul sludge of urine, vomit and feces in which the nightly tenants relieved themselves.

During the long years Jack had lived upon the streets of Inveraray, the lodging houses of Devil’s Den had been much the same. He had always elected to sleep outside during the summer—unless he could find shelter in a stable or shed. The smell of animal manure was preferable to the appalling stenches that a filthy, cloistered assemblage of human beings created when trapped in one small room.

“Why are those men fishing at this late hour?” Amelia wondered.

Jack glanced at the men dropping their net into the river. “They aren’t fishing. They’re dredging.”

“Dredging?”

“Dragging the riverbed.”

Amelia frowned, confused. “What are they looking for?”

“Anythin’ that might be unlucky enough to be down there,” supplied Oliver, climbing awkwardly down from his driver’s seat.

“What could they possibly be hoping to pull up from the river?”

“Corpses, mostly,” Oliver answered cheerfully. “Some nights the river is fair burstin’ with them.”

Amelia’s eyes widened. “Do people just fall in?”

“If they’re stewed enough, they do,” Oliver replied, untroubled. “ ’Course some poor souls jump in of their own accord, while others are given a wee push. The dredgers pull them up and see if there’s a reward to be paid for findin’ the poor buggers. There’s always pockets to be emptied first. They believe there’s nae wrong with takin’ what’s left on a dead man—especially seein’ as how the police will only do the same, given the chance.”

“They steal from dead bodies?” Amelia found the idea atrocious.

“They dinna see it as stealin’,” Oliver explained, trying to help her understand. “ ’Tis more like a fee, for findin’ them and bringin’ them to the attention of the authorities. An’ since the poor sods themselves won’t be needin’ what the dredgers find on ’em, they see nae harm in helpin’ themselves. ’Tis a business, an’ they expect to be paid for their work.”

“Watch your step.” Jack extended his hand to Amelia to help her down from the carriage. He wanted to get her safely onto his ship and inside a cabin before the dredgers pulled up a body, should they be fortunate enough to find one.

“Is this your ship?” Amelia stared in bewilderment at the dilapidated steam cargo ship tethered at the end of the wharf. Paint was peeling in fist-sized clumps off its rusting hull, and a black plume of oily smoke was belching erratically from its single battered smokestack. “It looks terribly old.”

“The Liberty has taken cargo to and from Singapore, Hong Kong, India, and the West Indies,” Jack informed her crisply. “She may not be what you’re accustomed to traveling on, Miss Belford, but she will have to suffice.” He strode toward the ship, leaving Amelia behind.

“Forgive me—I meant no insult,” Amelia swiftly apologized, realizing she had offended him. “I’m sure she’s a fine vessel,” she added lamely as she struggled to keep up with him.

“She seems to be throwin’ off an awful lot of smoke.” Oliver frowned at the acrid haze spewing in ever-thicker plumes from the ship.

Jack did not slow down as he studied the sooty shroud building against the star-pricked sky. “She’s not due to sail until the day after tomorrow. The trip to Inverness will interrupt her loading, but after she drops us off she can head back to—”

An explosive ball of fire suddenly tore from the ship, lighting the darkness in a fiery storm of copper and gold. The intense heat from the blast hit the threesome in a scorching blow. Jack grabbed Amelia and threw himself to the ground, shielding her from the searing explosion with his body.

“Get down!” he roared at Oliver.

Oliver collapsed against the dock and buried his head beneath his hands as another blast ripped from the Liberty, then another. A glorious shower of glittering sparks filled the sky before raining onto the ebony ripples of the river below.

“Sweet Saint Columba,” swore Oliver, hazarding a peek.

Amelia lay with her face buried against the hard wall of Jack’s chest. She was acutely aware of everything around her, from the acrid sting of the smoke-laden air to the rough graze of Jack’s cheap woolen coat against her cheek. He was lying sprawled atop her, his legs entwined with hers, his powerful arms and chest pinning her to the ground. For a long moment she lay frozen, feeling his heart pound against her chest and the steady gust of his breath in her hair.

“Are you all right?” Jack raised himself onto his elbows, lifting his weight off of Amelia, but still shielding her in case there was another blast.

“I’m fine, lad,” said Oliver, awkwardly pulling himself to his feet. “Dinna worry about me.”

“I’m fine, too.” Amelia’s voice trembled slightly.

Jack studied her a moment, as if he did not quite believe her. Her hair was scattered in golden strands against the rough planks of the dock, her breasts falling softly back from the neckline of her gown. She made no attempt to break free from his embrace, even though his leg was pressing intimately between her thighs and his hands were clutching the satin of her shoulders. Shadows and light were playing against her creamy skin, illuminating it in flickers of amber and coral. The Liberty was ablaze, Jack realized, not bothering to turn and look at it. His ship was destroyed, yet that realization seemed strangely distant against the extraordinary sensations coursing through him. All he could think of was how small and soft Amelia was as she lay so trustingly beneath him, her slender body pressing into the hard edges of him, filling him, caressing him, stirring his blood and heating his flesh until he wanted nothing more than to taste her lips while his hands roamed the sweet lushness of her.

Appalled, he rolled off her and sprang to his feet. His crew. He began to run toward his burning ship.

“Here now, lass, let me help ye,” said Oliver, offering his hand to Amelia.

“Oh, no,” she gasped. “Look!”

Some two dozen men were pouring onto the deck of the Liberty from the levels below. They stared at the blaze uncertainly, wondering if they should try to put it out.

“Get off the ship!” roared Jack, standing on the wharf below them. “Now!”

The men ran toward the stern of the ship, where the gangplank joined the Liberty to the dock. A scorching wall of fire and smoke blocked their path.

“Jump into the water!” he shouted, realizing they could never get through the blaze.

The blasts had awakened the men, women, and children who had been sleeping peacefully on the docks moments earlier. They raced toward the burning ship, anxious to help. The dredgers had also abandoned their miserable work and were rowing toward the ship, anxious to pull live bodies from the river instead of dead ones.

The crew aboard the Liberty began clambering over the railing at the front of the vessel, hesitating barely a second before hurling themselves into the frigid black water below. The drop would be bruising, Jack realized, but not deadly.

“Throw them something to hold onto!” he commanded, directing the ragged men, women, and children who had come to offer assistance. “Rope, barrels, crates—whatever you can find!”

Everyone immediately set to work hauling heavy lengths of rope and barrels and hoisting them off the dock into the water. Amelia and Oliver struggled to turn a barrel on its side before rolling it over the wharf’s edge. One thrashing sailor swam over to it and grabbed hold, while others reached for the secured ropes that were being tossed down to them.

“You two, come with me.” Jack motioned to a couple of strong-looking young men. “We’ll take that skiff and pull them out of the water.”

“Jack—look!” cried Amelia, pointing.

A young boy of about thirteen stood alone upon the deck of the Liberty, desperately trying to summon the courage to throw himself off the ship.

“Jump!” Jack ran to the edge of the wharf so the boy could see him. “Don’t think about it—just jump!”

The boy hesitantly climbed over the railing, then stared in terror at the rough waves below.

“Let go, Charlie!” yelled one of the sailors from the water, trying to encourage him.

“It ain’t that far!” shouted another.

“We’ll grab you the moment you hit the water!” added a third.

Whimpering, the boy closed his eyes.

Another explosion suddenly tore from the ship, violently rocking the vessel. The boy screamed as he fell forward, his legs kicking wildly as he fought to regain his hold. One hand still gripped the railing. With colossal effort he pulled himself up and scrambled back onto the deck.

“I can’t swim!” His voice was terrified.

“It doesn’t matter!” Jack told him. “We’ll pull you from the water—I promise!”

Charlie stared at the churning depths below, then shook his head. “I can’t,” he sobbed.

“Oh, God.” Amelia’s heart clenched with fear.

“The lad’s got to jump,” Oliver said grimly. “If he doesna, he’ll burn to death.”

“Row that skiff over and start pulling men from the water,” Jack ordered the two men he had chosen as he loosened his neck cloth. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Amelia watched as Jack swiftly wrapped his neck cloth around his nose and mouth. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get that boy.”

“Surely you’re not thinking of trying to run through the fire!”

“If I don’t get him, he’ll die,” he said simply.

He sprinted up the gangplank and onto the deck of his burning ship, tearing off his jacket. A terrible heat seared his lungs as he approached the smoky inferno at the center of the Liberty. He studied the fire a few seconds, trying to determine where there might be a gap in the flames, or at least a place where it was burning with less ferocity. Inhaling a gasp of hot, heavy air, he raised the thin shield of his jacket to protect his face, then charged blindly into the smoke and flames.

“He’s bleedin’ mad,” said a man standing on the dock, watching.

“He won’t make it,” predicted another. “If the fire doesn’t get him, the smoke surely will.”

Amelia stood with her hands fisted at her sides, waiting for Jack to emerge. Her heart was ramming painfully against her chest and her breath was trapped, making it impossible to speak, or cry, or do anything except watch with agonizing dread as huge pillars of flame wavered with grotesque beauty upon the ship.

And then, just when she was certain that Jack was dead, he burst through the valley of fire.

Throwing down his burning jacket, Jack doubled over and coughed heavily, trying to expel the smoke and heat from his lungs. He tore his neck cloth from his face and inhaled a few marginally cooler breaths. Then he ran toward the boy huddled upon the deck at the bow of the ship.

“Hello, Charlie,” he said, the calmness of his voice belying the gravity of their situation. “I think it’s time we got off this ship, don’t you?”

“I ain’t goin’ into that fire!”

“Me, neither. I just ran through it, and I didn’t find it a particularly pleasant experience.”

“I ain’t jumpin’ neither! I can’t swim!”

“I won’t let you drown, Charlie. I give you my word.”

Charlie regarded him helplessly, his eyes wide with fear.

“Take my hand.” Jack’s voice was gentle but firm as he extended his hand to the shivering boy. “That’s all I want you to do. Just take my hand.”

“You’ll try to push me off,” he said accusingly.

“I won’t,” Jack promised. “You’re a young man, Charlie, not a child. You have the right to choose to die if you want to. And if you want to stay here and be burned alive, I’ll respect your wishes. Is that what you want?”

He frantically shook his head.

“Then take my hand.”

Charlie whimpered, then reached out and grabbed Jack’s hand.

“Good.” Jack held him tightly. “Now we’re going to climb over the railing together, and then we’re going to just step off the ship. There’s really nothing more to it than that.”

Dazed with terror, Charlie allowed Jack to guide him over the railing. Suddenly he froze, clinging to the rail with one hand, holding fast to Jack with the other.

“I’ll drown,” Charlie whispered, staring at the inky depths below.

“No, you won’t. For a few seconds you’ll fly through the air, and then you’ll hit the water. Hold your breath and keep your mouth and eyes closed. I’ll grab you and pull you up. Ready?”

Charlie looked terrified, but he nodded.

“All right then, let’s go.”

Amelia watched in awe as Jack and the boy stepped off the ship, holding hands. Charlie’s scream split the air, and then was obliterated by the splash of the water. Both disappeared for a few interminable seconds, rendering the night grimly silent.

Then Jack exploded from the water, holding a gasping, choking Charlie in his arms.

A resounding cheer burst from the men and women crowded upon the docks and clinging to barrels and crates in the water. Holding fast to the boy, Jack swam over to the skiff that was rowing out to meet them, and helped the men on it pull Charlie safely aboard. Then he climbed into the boat himself and set to work helping the rest of his ship’s crew out of the river.

“ ’Tis a fine thing ye did, lad,” Oliver said gruffly when Jack finally stood, cold and dripping, upon the wharf. “Ye made me right proud.”

Amelia hurried over from where she had been helping the men and women distribute their ragged shawls and blankets to the shivering crew members. She studied Jack anxiously. “Are you all right?”

Her once artfully arranged hair was falling in tangled disarray around her shoulders, her cheeks and hands were smudged with dirt, and her elegant evening gown was badly torn. Jack thought she looked unbelievably beautiful. “I’m fine.”

“The crew is all accounted for, Mr. Kent, sir,” said a lean, gray-haired man of about forty-five. “For a while we thought Evans, Lewis, and Ritchie were missing, but we’ve just found them—they were visitin’ the taverns when the Liberty caught fire.”

“Where was everyone when the fire broke out, Captain MacIntosh?” asked Jack.

“Most of the crew had retired for the night,” the captain replied. “With the Liberty due to sail the day after tomorrow, we’ve been breakin’ our backs these past few days getting our cargo and supplies stowed and ready. Most of the men were just too tired to go lookin’ for—” He glanced uneasily at Amelia, taking note of her elaborate jewels and expensive gown. “Entertainment,” he finished delicately.

“Who was on watch?”

“Davis and Patterson. I’ve already talked to them. They said a carriage came round about an hour ago, with two fancy gents in it. They asked Davis if he’d seen another carriage before them. He told them he hadn’t, and they moved on down the wharf. Other than that, nothin’ was amiss.”

Jack saw Amelia’s face pale. He had to get her out of there soon, he realized. While he doubted either his sailors or the men and women who had been sleeping on the docks could read a newspaper, it was possible someone had seen her picture and knew of the reward being offered for her capture. Standing on the docks in a ball gown with her jewels sparkling against her skin, she was certainly arousing their curiosity, especially now that the crew from the Liberty was safe.

“The fire probably began in the engine room,” suggested Captain MacIntosh. “The boiler must have exploded.”

“It seems unlikely that the boiler would explode when the ship was docked,” Jack observed.

“Then it had to be the coal cargo,” the captain decided. “That’s a tricky one to stow. It lets off dangerous gases when it’s all piled up in a hold. Sometimes they smolder, and suddenly—boom.”

“Or maybe a lantern caught a whiff of the gases and set it off,” suggested Oliver.

Jack said nothing. He was well aware that coal fires accounted for a high number of British ships being lost each year—sometimes as many as a hundred. He did not particularly like transporting coal for that very reason. But it was a major British export, and as the owner of a struggling shipping company, he could not afford to be overly discriminating about his cargoes. Even so, he didn’t believe that the boiler or its coal had caused the fire on the Liberty.

Someone was trying to destroy his company, and with the loss of the Liberty, they had come very close to succeeding.

“She’ll burn the better part of the night,” reflected Oliver. “Nothin’ we can do for her.”

“A shame.” Captain MacIntosh regarded the ship mournfully. “She wasn’t much to look at, but she was a tough old thing. She had at least another ten years in her.”

Jack scanned the crowd of people clustered around the docks, wondering if any of them had played a part in the destruction of his ship. It was even possible the vandals were amongst his crew. He searched for some sign of Quinn or his men, but didn’t see them. He had instructed Lionel Hobson to fire Quinn, but only after he had found a replacement. It seemed unlikely that he would have been able to do so in such a short period of time. It didn’t matter. Watched or not, the Liberty had been destroyed, along with her cargo.

It was a terrible blow.

“What do ye want to do now, lad?” asked Oliver.

“Perhaps we should return to your parents’ house,” Amelia suggested hopefully.

Jack shook his head. “The Charlotte is moored not far from here. We’ll take her instead. Captain MacIntosh, I need you to select a crew member who can be trusted and knows how to drive a carriage to come with us and take my carriage back to my parents’ house,” he continued. “The rest of the crew can go home. You will visit my office tomorrow morning and tell Hobson what has happened. He should contact our client and advise them that our insurance company will cover the loss of their cargo. The authorities will also have to be notified so they can make a report.” Which, Jack reflected, would uncover nothing. “Advise Hobson that I have taken the Charlotte. I will contact him when she becomes available again, should anyone be interested in hiring her.”

“Yes, sir.” Captain MacIntosh stared at his burning ship a long moment. “I’m sorry, sir,” he apologized gravely. “The Liberty was my responsibility. I failed both you and her.”

“We’ll get past this, Captain,” Jack said briskly, trying to diminish the seriousness of the situation. Captain MacIntosh was a good man and an excellent sailor, and Jack did not believe he had anything to do with the destruction of the Liberty. “None of the crew was lost or injured, and that is the most important thing. Unfortunately, I’ve no openings on any of my remaining ships for a captain. But as soon as I find a vessel to replace the Liberty, I’ll be contacting you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Of course he couldn’t even remotely afford another ship, and the insurance he had on the Liberty would not be nearly enough to replace her. But Jack did not want anyone to think that her loss was significant enough to ruin him. If word of that got out, then he would be ruined for certain.

“Here is some money.” He pulled some wet notes from his billfold. “If any of the men don’t have a place to go tonight, see that they have shelter and a hot meal. I will make sure they are reasonably compensated for their loss of work, but in the meantime they will have to look for other employment. Unfortunately, I don’t have another ship to put them on.”

“The men will understand, sir. Thank you.”

Jack turned and offered his arm to Amelia. “Come.”

She looked at the ragged men, women, and children still crowded around the rescued crew, sharing their filthy, torn blankets and sips from their precious bottles of cheap spirits.

She removed one of her emerald earrings and pressed it into Captain MacIntosh’s hand. “Do you think if you sold this you would have enough to give these people some decent food and blankets?”

Captain MacIntosh regarded her in astonishment.

“That isn’t necessary—” Jack began.

“I’m not leaving until Captain MacIntosh assures me that tomorrow night these people will have blankets and bread,” Amelia insisted. “If he won’t do it, then I shall stay here and see to it myself.”

Oliver’s mouth twitched with amusement. “I wouldna bother to argue, lad. Ye know how the lass is once she sets her mind on something.”

Jack sighed. “Take the earring to Hobson and tell him that I want him to come down here tomorrow night and distribute blankets, bread, cheese, and dried beef to everyone.” He specifically failed to mention what Hobson should actually do with the earring. He recalled that they had been a gift from Amelia’s father, and he did not want her to lose one of the few precious items that remained from her former life. Instead, he would pay for the supplies himself.

“And fruit,” Amelia added. “The children need to have fruit.”

“And fruit,” repeated Jack.

“And all the children must be fitted for new shoes,” Amelia continued. “And new stockings too, so they don’t get blisters.”

Jack regarded her incredulously. There had to be at least fifty children crowded on the docks. Outfitting each of them with new shoes and stockings would cost a fortune.

“Here.” Amelia realized that everything she was asking for probably cost more than one earring. “You will get more for them if you sell them as a set.” She dropped the other sparkling gem into the captain’s palm. “The stones are quite clear and their color is excellent—and it would really please me to know that they had been used to help feed and clothe these people.” She regarded him hopefully. “Perhaps you will have enough to also buy the women new shawls?”

“Thank you, your ladyship,” said Captain MacIntosh, stunned. “I’m sure the people here will be most appreciative of your generosity. Who shall I say is their benefactress?”

“Her ladyship prefers to remain anonymous,” Jack swiftly interjected. He took Amelia’s arm and began to steer her toward the carriage before she completely bankrupted him.

“Just tell them an angel crossed their path tonight,” said Oliver, chuckling. “A bonny wee angel.”

He turned to follow Jack and Amelia, leaving everyone else silhouetted against the glare of the brilliantly burning ship.