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Philip stood slowly. He’d come fourteen thousand miles in order never to be reminded of his brother’s fatal accident. Except, of course, for Leo.
She flinched, and he realized he was leaning over her. Pivoting, he walked the length of his cabin, which only took about six long strides and brought him to his bedside.
Staring down at the cat, Robert’s cat, he let the buzzing in his ears quiet before he turned to her.
“Strange as the coincidence may be, Miss Angsley, somehow you do know of my family and our painful past. However, I have no wish to discuss it.”
“Very well,” she conceded. “We’ll discuss it no more.”
She sipped her tea again, draining the mug and even eyeing the bottom as if hopeful for more. He would bring more blasted tea in order to escape the room where suddenly Robert had been conjured.
In any case, the blasted woman was as chatty as a magpie. He’d just managed to stop her long rambling tale of a few months in China, only to find out she knew his family in England. However, he doubted she could hold her tongue, since she hadn’t stopped waggling it since she’d opened her eyes.
Sure enough, she spoke again.
“I offer my condolences, for it appears you grieve still.”
His grief was his own damned business. “Thank you for your sympathy, as long as we speak no more of it.”
“Of course not,” she said, pushing her chair away from the table and standing. “I completely understand.”
As she approached him, looking entirely uncooperative, he would have backed up if he could, but there was nowhere to go.
“Certainly, we will not speak another word about it,” she repeated.
Reaching out, she stroked his brother’s cat on the head. If he’d dared to attempt the same, he would have pulled back a scratched and bleeding hand. Leo seemed to like her, though, purring happily.
Traitor, he thought, looking at the animal which stretched languorously under her touch. Didn’t he have mice or rats to catch down below?
“Yes, I believe we have come to an understanding,” he agreed, “that we will not.”
Eyeing him, she nodded.
“Except I thought only to tell you how my family was touched by the terrible incident, too,” she added, “not that I shall tell another word of it.”
And she didn’t. She pursed her lips and caressed his cat, and even sat again on his bed, saying nothing except a few murmurs of endearment toward Leo.
Philip stared at her. Despite wearing a tattered gown, despite her once fancy-dressed hair having come undone so she had two loose braids hanging down her back, despite a little grime on her face, she was, as he’d said before, a beautiful woman.
And she was being purposefully infuriating.
Sighing, he had to ask, as she likely knew he would.
“All right, tell me how my brother’s death touched your family. And be quick about it. I must get on deck.”
She eyed him. “If you’re sure you want to hear.”
Gritting his teeth, he nodded.
“My cousin is John Angsley, the Earl of Cambrey,” she stated.
“Cambrey,” he repeated, instantly picturing the face of the man Robert’s carriage had hit, the very instant his brother died.
“I see. In truth, I am not sure I recalled his surname, thinking of him only as Lord Cambrey.”
She nodded. “Of course. Are you aware my cousin was gravely injured, with a broken leg and arm and a terrible blow to his skull?”
Philip nodded. “I was. I even spoke with him before I left England.”
Her eyes widened. Apparently, she didn’t know that.
She also didn’t know he had nearly done something so foul it was worthy of any black-hearted pirate. He’d thought to exact revenge for his brother’s death by ruining the earl’s fiancée. At the time, he’d been so angry and wounded in his spirit, he wanted to punish someone, anyone, for the loss of his brother — his twin.
Luckily, he’d realized he was in a red haze of misplaced fury before he did something unforgiveable. Besides, the earl’s lady was a kind woman with whom Philip had thought himself more likely to become smitten than be able to harm.
“So, you are the earl’s cousin?” he mused “Quite a bit younger, are you not?”
Nodding again, she said only, “About a decade, in fact, but it’s not polite to discuss a woman’s age.”
Probably true although he was out of practice with what was polite.
“I’ll see about getting you more tea.” Allowing himself as wide a berth as possible given the circumstances of the close confines, he moved past her and headed to the door.
“Am I to be kept in this cabin then, Captain? I thought you said I wasn’t a prisoner. I would very much like some fresh air.”
“There is always the porthole, Miss Angsley. They open easily enough. Just don’t get your head stuck in one.”
With that, he left her. It was first light, and some crew members were swabbing the decks, others checking the sails for rips. A clipper was only as fast as her taut and trim sails, after all. He would fetch more tea, like a bloody servant, but only after conferring with Rufus over the best course of action. They’d started this endeavor two years earlier — two Brits seeking fortune and adventure — and he trusted his first mate and friend from boarding school above all others.
Philip found him on the poop deck, seated on an old wooden tea container and drinking coffee.
“How’s the woman?” Rufus asked upon seeing him.
“Hungry, thirsty, spirited, extremely talkative, and no worse for being captured and held on a junk.”
“You know their code,” his first mate remarked.
Because of the famed and powerful lady pirate, Ching Shih, who’d died only a half-dozen years earlier, the Chinese pirates treated female captives with care. Far better, Philip would guess, than what a woman, especially a lovely one like Miss Angsley, would experience from British pirates, not that there were many around anymore, certainly not in these waters.
In the Orient, there were no true English pirates flying their flags of doom and terror, not like the famed Poseidon’s Legion whose stories he’d heard from childhood. Nowadays, it seemed everyone was behaving like a pirate, smuggling opium, selling to corrupt Chinese officials, and raiding merchant ships filled with Chinese goods heading to England. Even the Royal Navy assisted the opium trade on behalf of Britain, though the Manchu government still considered the drug forbidden.
“Her father is here on the queen’s business,” he told Rufus.
“Rather like us, then.”
“Probably not. As a diplomat, her father is undoubtedly a tried-and-true believer in turning all of China into docile opium addicts. It has been immensely profitable, after all.”
Their own mission was different. Recovering the duchess’s necklace was crucial since it was practically a matter of state. That it had been stolen at all was a court disaster because everyone and everything should be safe at Buckingham Palace.
Chinese officials of the Qing Dynasty had been in the palace speaking with the foreign secretary, Lord Palmerston, about the treaties, which the Manchus considered vastly unfair — and then the blasted necklace had gone missing.
Unable to accuse them outright, the queen’s foreign affairs minister needed a privateer to retrieve it without offending the Chinese. For though the British had soundly defeated the Qing in the first so-called Opium War, they now worked together to rid the waters of Chinese and Japanese pirates who interfered greatly with British merchants.
Luckily, Philip had needed something tangible and difficult to do after Robert’s death. His father, who had a royal appointment as the queen’s wool supplier, took Philip with him to the palace, and before he knew it, he was captaining his own ship bound for the Orient.
“What are we doing with her?” Rufus’s gaze went from surveying the ship’s decks and the quiet waters around the Robert to locking onto Philip’s face.
“Her father may be in Stanley, so I suppose we head there.”
“Will delay our trip home,” his first mate pointed out. “The crew is eager to see the shores of England.”
“Do they know I have the necklace?” Philip asked.
“Hard to keep such a thing a secret, Captain, but for now, it’s only a rumor. You went on the junk with a sack. You came off the junk with the sack and a woman. When your steward cleans your cabin, I imagine he’s been paid by half the crew to look in the bag and see what’s inside.”
There had been a lot of false leads and many dangerous boardings trying to track the necklace, until a tavern in Ningbo and a loose-lipped, opium-addicted pirate mentioned the jewels.
“You may have a day before the hands know for sure, but when they do, they’re going to want to set sail for home immediately.”
Philip agreed with that entirely. The sooner the Robert got underway for Britain, the sooner he and his men got paid. Moreover, the danger of reprisal would increase daily. As more tongues wagged about the necklace having been found, in Bias Bay of all places, more pirates would be on his tail. If not Chui-A-poo, then Shap-ng-tsai. The French might want to reclaim it for their so-called prince-president, Napoleon’s nephew, since the jewels had originally belonged to Marie Antoinette. Or even the American pirate, Eli Boggs, might show up.
Philip shuddered, not liking the idea of being cut to bits and sent to the mainland bucket by bucket, which Eli favored as a particularly gruesome warning. The cruel bastard!
“We could turn the necklace over to the queen’s officials in Victoria Town,” Rufus said.
Philip paused and stared at his first mate. Then the man cracked a smile, and they both shared a long and hearty laugh. As if they would trust anyone except each other in this godforsaken land.
“Weigh anchor. We sail for Stanley Bay.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Then Philip sighed. “I’m going to fetch our unwanted guest a mug of tea.”
“Too late,” Rufus said, gesturing with a nod behind him.
He turned. Sure enough, on the quarter deck below, Miss Angsley stood, looking almost regal if not for her rags. Blimey!
***
BERYL HELD THE CANDLESTICK in her right hand, keeping it down and concealed in the folds of her skirts. She felt better for holding it as she encountered one crewman after another, stopping, staring, smirking, silent. She wished she’d stayed in the captain’s cabin after all but was now fearful of turning her back on any of these men. Since they weren’t wearing uniforms of Her Majesty’s Navy, they certainly looked like pirates to her.
One laid down his mop and approached her.
“Um.” She licked her lips and saw him stare interestedly at her mouth. “Where is Captain Carruthers?” she asked.
Then the sailor’s eyes darted lower to her feet, where Leo had suddenly shown himself, having left the cabin with her.
“Sink me!” he exclaimed, looking at her with a newfound admiration. “Have you tamed that vicious beast?”
Eyes wide, he glanced from the cat to her face, then to his right where she now saw the captain descending a small flight of steps, almost a ladder, to the deck she was on. His expression was clearly one of displeasure.
“Thank you,” she said to the sailor, who, without another word, quickly returned to his mopping.
Just then, she heard another voice yell out orders to weigh the anchor, and a general flurry of activity ensued.
As soon as he was close enough for her to hear him, the captain said, “I thought I ordered you to remain in my cabin.”
“Did you?” she asked. Had he? She thought it was more of a suggestion than anything. “I thought I was not a prisoner. On the ship on the way over from England, I was allowed freedom to walk the decks without fear. Don’t you have command over your crew?”
She watched his jaw tighten.
“Name?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The name of the ship. You spent many months on it. I assume you know its name.”
“Wellesley,” she said.
He nodded. “Quite a bit larger than this one, wouldn’t you say? Nice cabin, dining room, good food?”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“The HMS Wellesley is a Cornwallis Class warship with seventy-four guns, and the men are kept extremely busy running her. My men sometimes have too much time on their hands.” He glanced to where the sailor had been swabbing the deck and had now disappeared, caught up in the order, she guessed, to get the ship moving.
In fact, all around her, activity had sprung up, putting the lie to his words.
He followed her glance. “You’ve given us a task this morning, Miss Angsley. We’re heading to Stanley Bay in search of your father.”
“Thank you.”
They both looked down as Leo circled her hem again and then darted off.
“He keeps the vermin down,” Captain Carruthers told her.
She supposed a cat on a ship was a good idea. “How long will the journey take?”
“Not long. We are smaller than the Wellesley, but a hell of a lot faster, as you’ll find out.”
Hm. He might not be a pirate, but he was rude. In any case, she was fairly certain a privateer was a pirate, except with some official papers. He could still get up to no good and into trouble.
Thinking of trouble, when a voice spoke close behind her, she whirled around, raising the brass candlestick without thinking.
“What the devil?” she heard the captain exclaim as she faced a sailor with wide, startled eyes. Then a moment later, Captain Carruthers ordered her to “Lower your weapon!”
She could hear the amusement in his voice.
“Report, Bantam,” he said to the sailor.
The man still stared at her but addressed his captain. “I checked the tye, tack, brace, and stays, Captain, and the robands are all secure.”
“Good. Have Churley find someone to relieve Jack in the crow’s nest.”
The sailor had plainly been given an order but remained standing there, gawking at her. She began to feel like a rare specimen, indeed.
“See to it,” the captain urged. “Smartly now, hurry along. Jack’s been up there five hours, I think.”
At last, the crewman moved. “Aye, Captain.” And he dashed away.
“Another reason for you to stay in my cabin? Not only is it safer for you, it’s safer for all of us. My crew will be so distracted by you if you remain on deck, they’ll be leaving lines loose or untied altogether.”
Then he frowned at the “weapon” in her hand.
“If I take you to the galley where we make tea, will you give me back my candlestick?”
She felt her cheeks heat up.
He held out his hand.
Like a child who’d taken something not belonging to her, Beryl handed it to him, then followed him to the galley, where she met the cook, a gruff-looking man with an even gruffer voice, who could strangely make a perfect pot of tea.
“In any case, there’s nowhere for you to go as comfortable as my cabin,” the captain told her. “Therefore, you might as well return to it until we reach Stanley.”
Beryl decided he was right. She’d seen enough of the Hong Kong coastline to last a lifetime, so she returned to his cabin with her tea. Soon, she hoped to be seeing the familiar sight of Stanley Bay again, and the Royal Naval vessel that would take her home.