CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Chapter Fourteen

 

The night was moonless. The chill had driven people off the streets and into the warmth of crowded taverns and inns. The interior of the coach was damp from the threads of mist that drifted through the open windows, adding to Summer's discomfort as she huddled in a shivering bundle in the corner. The colder she became, the closer she came to ordering the driver to take her home. It had been a foolhardy idea from the outset. She had no way of knowing if her note had been delivered to the correct tavern, or if anyone would respond to the name of the merchant she had overheard Admiral Stonekipper mention in the drawing room.

She was on the last shreds of patience and courage when she heard the scrape of a footstep on the cobbled street. She leaned forward enough to peek out of the window with one enormous eye, and saw a shadow slowly approaching, as obviously wary of a trap as she was of being discovered in such a disreputable part of town.

The shadow was tall and lean. He glanced into every recessed doorway as he passed and one of his hands was tucked into his greatcoat, no doubt gripping the handle of a gun.

"Mr. Roarke?"

The man halted abruptly at the sound of her whisper. He was momentarily caught in a splash of light reflected from a nearby window, and the brightness slanted off the round spectacles as he turned his head to the coach.

"Mr. Roarke?"

"Aye," he said slowly, squinting to see through the darkness. "My name might be Roarke."

"Please—" She unlatched the carriage door and nudged it open. "I mustn't be seen talking to you, but please believe me: it is very important that I do."

Roarke glanced over his shoulder. It was well after midnight. There was no one else on the street within a hundred paces.

"You will have to forgive me, madam. I have an aversion to entering dark coaches, especially when I do not know to whom it belongs."

Summer lowered her hood and leaned further out the window...enough for the faint light to touch on her face, on the shiny golden crown of her hair. "I am alone, Mr. Roarke, and already absent too long from my home."

Roarke recognized the pale features at once. He crossed over to the coach, his hand falling clear of the greatcoat, and stepped inside, taking a seat on the bench opposite her.

"Mrs. Winfield. I confess you have managed to startle me. Doubly so, since you knew the right name to use in order to arrange this meeting."

"I apologize for the deception. I used the name Marlowe because I did not think my own would succeed in bringing you here...and yet...it seems as though you are already familiar with my name."

She could not see his face through the gloom, but tiny glints of light winked off the surface of his spectacles as he nodded. "I knew you were Sir Lionel's daughter as soon as I read the list of passengers presumed lost with Sea Vixen. As to your marriage, I only heard of it this afternoon. My belated congratulations."

"Does...I mean, did...?"

"Did Morgan figure out you weren't a governess? No. And I am too well acquainted with his temper to want to be the one to enlighten him unless it is absolutely life or death necessary. He and Commodore Winfield, as I am sure you have guessed by now, share little affection for each other."

"Even less than you know," she murmured through a shiver. "And I would prefer if Captain Wade never finds out. Not about Bennett, or the marriage, or even our meeting here tonight."

He said nothing but the spectacles winked again as he glanced out the window.

"I should also like to apologize for my behavior on board the Vigilant. I was unpardonably rude and I had no right to vent my anger and frustration on you."

"Mrs. Winfield, there is no need to apologize. My own mood was less than companionable as I recall. But I'm sure that isn't why you asked to meet me here tonight."

"No. No, it isn't."

"Your note implied that you had some important information?"

Summer moistened her lips. She was certain she was about to commit some form of treason, and her stomach was in such turmoil she feared she might lose it all over her lap.

"Yes, Mr. Roarke. Not so much to tell you something as to warn you."

"Warn me?"

She nodded, biting on her lip. "Tell me one thing first, please? Have you been negotiating with the Marlowe brothers for a large shipment of guns and powder?"

Roarke was startled. He had just concluded the deal that afternoon. "And if I have?"

"If you have, then my husband's plan to trap the Chimera has been set in motion."

The silence stretched taut between them.

"What kind of a trap does he have in mind?" he asked at length, making no attempt to conceal the mistrust in his voice.

She inhaled a deep breath to steady herself. "My husband took the Caledonia out of Bridgetown two days ago, and has set a course that will take him to a point well south of Congor Bay. There, he will lay in wait for Captain Wade to load the cargo of guns and powder on board the Chimera. He plans to follow him when he sails back to Bounty Key, but only as far as the Sirens. The Northgate has already been dispatched to wait on the far side of the reef, and as soon as the Chimera enters that wretched channel....both ships will move into position and the Chimera will be trapped."

Roarke was silent for so long, Summer thought blood would start pumping out of her ears.

"How do you know all of this?" he asked finally.

"Does it matter how I know, Mr. Roarke? The fact that my husband and half the navy knows Captain Wade's plans...the fact I could find out how to contact you and arrange a meeting, should be of more concern to you."

"It is," he admitted grimly.

"Then you believe me?"

"To a point, I would have to say you leave me no choice but to believe you."

"To a point?"

"How does your husband plan to follow us around the Caribbean undetected? The Caledonia is a first rating, unless our information is wrong, and not exactly invisible against the horizon."

Summer forced a calmness into her voice that she was far from feeling. "He has a new, very powerful spyglass. I gather it allows him to stay well down on the horizon while it would present you quite clearly."

The spectacles glinted again as he looked out the carriage window.

"Mr. Roarke, I know you may find it difficult to believe me, but I am telling you the truth. I can even tell you that should the captain not surrender at once at the Sirens, they plan to sink the Chimera and leave no witnesses behind. They have debris from a French ship...the Etoile...which they will scatter so that the blame will be misdirected."

"Tell me, Mrs. Winfield, why are you here? Why are you warning us? Forgive me for being blunt, but you are obviously going against the wishes of your father and your husband, not to mention your own government."

"I am well aware of that, Mr. Roarke. I have asked myself the same question a thousand times over the past few hours...days, even. And please do not think that under any circumstances I would be inclined to do it again, but perhaps the answer is simply that I owe Captain Wade this one favor. By warning him of the trap at the Sirens, I clear the debt I owe him for saving my brother's life. The only question that remains is if you will act on the information I have given you."

"I will consider it, yes, Mrs. Winfield."

Her hands stopped trembling as if by magic, and she sank back against the seat cushion. "Thank you," she whispered. "And about our meeting...?"

"You have my word, madam, that Morgan will not hear of it from me. Now, I had best let you be on your way."

The carriage rocked slightly as Stuart Roarke opened the door and stepped down onto the street. He made sure the latch was fast and was about to back away when he felt Summer's hand lightly touch his shoulder."

"Yes? Was there something else?"

He waited, but the words swimming in her eyes would not come to her lips.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Winfield," he said, smiling gently.

"Godspeed, Mr. Roarke."

She melted away from the carriage window and Stuart heard a faint tap on the driver's box. A few moments later he was alone on the cobbled street, listening to the sound of the hoofbeats clopping away. He turned and hurried down a series of winding streets, his brow furrowed in concentration, his mind a whirl of questions. As he approached the front of one particularly noisy tavern, the door swung open to an uproarious bellow of laughter.

"There you are, you bastard!" Morgan Wade grinned drunkenly and swaggered out onto the boardwalk. His arm was draped around the shoulders of a buxom red-haired beauty, and she was giggling as his hand fondled lustily beneath the bodice of her blouse.

"Stuart, me buck-o, Lettice and I had all but given you up for lost. Where the hell have you been?"

"Some last minute business," Roarke said easily.

"Business, heh?" Wade belched and leered down at the whore. His leather jerkin was unlaced; his shirt was spread wide over the black curling hairs on his chest. The woman had her arms around his waist and was running her hands greedily over his hard flesh. "What do you think, m'love, of a man who thinks of nothing but business on a fine night like this?"

She giggled and pressed closer, whispering something in Wade's ear. His brow shot up, and he regarded her in some amazement.

"A damned fine idea," he murmured. "Both of us?"

Stuart grimaced and glanced both ways along the street. "I could use a drink, if you can spare a minute more of your time."

"A drink?" Wade squinted at Roarke, then moved his hand so that the cotton blouse was scooped beneath the woman's bounteous breasts. "And leave all this warm flesh to grow cold?"

"We have to talk," Roarke insisted quietly.

"Talk?" Wade grumbled and swayed before sliding his hand out from under the whore's breasts. "No wonder Bettina loses patience with you if all you do is talk."

Roarke reached into his pocket and produced a gold coin. He held it up in plain view and signaled to the whore to remove herself from Wade's embrace. Her eyes widened greedily and she weighed the coin against the promise of the drunken sailor leaning heavily over her shoulders. Her hand snaked out and she grabbed the coin, then twirled out of Morgan's grasp and was gone in a blink back into the noisy interior of the tavern.

When she was gone, Morgan straightened and raked both hands through his black mane, offering up a smile of thanks to Roarke. "A true savior, my friend. She was becoming downright persistent and damn near raped me in the booth."

"Did you find out anything useful?"

"Aye. The Caledonia left on Wednesday's tide, and that white-assed bastard Winfield was at the helm."

"So that much of our information was correct."

"Aye. But I am not one to believe in coincidences, are you?"

Roarke shook his head. "He knows about the guns and is going to try to catch us with them."

"So it would seem. It would also seem as though the Marlowe brothers are playing both sides against the middle."

Roarke nodded. "They have about outlived their usefulness anyway, but I will make it well known that they have tried to double-cross us. Perhaps when they find themselves with warehouses full of rotting goods and no one buying them, they will realize the error of their ways. I did come across some other interesting information tonight, however."

Wade glanced over his shoulder as the tavern door opened and closed, spilling out a pair of singing sailors. "Come along then, we can talk on the way."

"On the way?"

Morgan grinned. "We have another meeting tonight that might require your fine touch."

Roarke fell into step beside him as Wade tucked his shirttails into his breeches and retied the laces on his vest. "That wench's hands were faster than a hummingbird's wings," he muttered through a chuckle.

"A talent that evidently pleases Admiral Stonekipper."

"Unfortunately the same cannot be said for the intrepid admiral. According to the delectable Lettice, he's all thumbs and sweat and no results."

"Perhaps you should have given her something more than a coin to remember you by."

"Aye, perhaps." Wade glanced away. "I am beginning to grow weary of all these games, Stuart. Just once I would like to be the one setting the traps and laying in wait...or better yet, hunting the bastards down and blasting them to kingdom come."

"The time is coming, Morgan. War is so thick in the air you can smell it. But we aren't ready yet. You know that as well as I do, as well as Stephen does."

"Aye, but it leaves a man wanting just the same. So let's hear it...what else have you found out about the Caledonia?"

"Winfield had her stripped and refitted. She's carrying seventy-four guns, all told, not a threat to be lightly dismissed."

Wade snorted. "She's a bloody razee to begin with. Whoever lopped off her top deck couldn't save her from wallowing like a sow in heat, so it's not likely Winfield's changes made much of a difference. He won't be able to outrun us, for sure. Hell, he won't even get close enough to count our sails."

"He may not have to."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, I am told the Royal Navy has a new toy. A glass ten times as powerful as anything we could lay a hand to at the moment. The information came to me from two different sources, so I'm inclined to believe the glass exists. Winfield will be able to hug the horizon without us ever knowing she is there."

"What bloody good would that do him? We can still outrun the bastard."

"Not if there is another ship ahead of us and Winfield drives us toward it."

Morgan stopped. "Is this another of your intuitive suspicions?"

"It is more than a suspicion. The Northgate has been dispatched on ahead to wait on the north side of the Sirens."

"The Northgate?" Even through the gloom, Roarke could see Wade's complexion darken with anger.

"Aye, and she has a new captain at the helm. A man by the name of Ashton-Smythe."

Wade was thoughtful for a moment. "I have heard of him. Spit and polish, like the rest of them, but he has a brain to go along with it. What happened to Forbes?"

"My guess is that Winfield didn't take too kindly to another showman in the same arena. Forbes is on a ship bound for England; he'll be bucking heads with the French by Christmas."

Wade started walking again, his steps measured and angry. "So. They're planning to sandwich us at the Sirens, are they? I wonder how they chose that particular spot."

Roarke hesitated. He could tell by the grating edge to Morgan's voice that he was blaming the choice of location on Summer Winfield and her brother, for who else could have told the admiralty where to set the perfect trap? Despite his promise, he had a nagging feeling he should tell Morgan about his meeting earlier tonight.

"Well, if Winfield is hoping to win his admiral's bars," Wade was saying, "it won't be on my wind."

"We're going to pass on the guns?"

"I am going to give it some serious thought. I am also going to give some serious thought to going home for Christmas. What say you to that, Roarke? Virginia in December is cool and crisp. It helps a man regain his perspective; stops him from thinking of what might have been and keeps him focused on what lies ahead."

"You've never had trouble focusing before."

"Nevertheless, it's high time Stephen Decatur and I had a long talk, face to face. This cloak and dagger business is beginning to wear thin."

"He will only tell you what he has been telling you all along. His hands are tied. We have to wait it out, Morgan. We cannot be the ones to start an incident now."

"What do you call sending two warships after us? A friendly sparring contest?"

"Winfield has the excuse that we are smuggling guns to come after us, whereas we have no reason for an attack against him. If you want to see him fume to the point of melting his brass buttons, just sail into Bridgetown and drop anchor. Sit there for a few weeks and count how many times he sails back and forth in front of the harbor."

"My ship was not built to stay in port. Furthermore, it isn't my aim just to make him angry. I want him making mistakes. Bad mistakes."

"And he will. But don't let him be the cause of you making any."

Wade scowled. "Between you and Decatur I feel as potent as a schoolboy tossing pebbles at a window."

Roarke chuckled. "Well, you shouldn't. You and Bull have had a freer hand than any dozen other privateers combined."

"Only because we do what we do so well." Wade grinned humorlessly. "And don't you mean because we have been used more freely? Maybe that is what tires me the most—letting everyone else's judgment rule my life instead of following my own."

Roarke laughed. "When has anyone ever told you what to do and lived to brag about it?"

Wade's pace slowed. They were nearing the end of a grimy laneway, and paused to look cautiously up and down the street, to listen for any errant footsteps behind that might indicate someone had been following.

Wade shifted his weight from one foot to the other then glanced at Roarke. "You didn't happen to hear anything...about the lad, did you?"

"Michael Cambridge? Not a word. Was there something in particular you wanted to know?"

"No." Wade's frown deepened.

"I...uh...did hear, however, that he no longer has a governess."

Wade glanced over sharply. "What do you mean? Where has she gone?"

"She's married, Morgan. As to where she's gone, I didn't ask. I didn't think it was that important to you."

Wade's face remained impassive. "It isn't," he said curtly and started to walk again. "I imagine she was well paid for her travails and is content to be back in the arms of her bank clerk."

Wade's pace quickened. They reached the end of the street, ducked down another narrow alleyway and entered a tavern by the rear door. His dark blue eyes raked the smoky interior, noting the faces that shouldn't be there and acknowledging the nods from his men who were already aware of the spies amongst them. Two more beagle-nosed informants were going to find it difficult to wake up in the morning.

"Ah...there he is." Wade grinned and slapped Roarke between the shoulder blades. "Put a happier look on your face, Stuart, lad. That's your father-in-law you're frowning at."