“Enough! Enough. I can’t do any better than fifty, I’m certain.”
Aubrey grinned. “You did very well today, Eliza. If you keep up the good work and practice everyday,” he said, imitating the exact words she’d used with him just an hour earlier, “you’re bound to get better. I bet your lungs will stretch bigger and bigger and get stronger and stronger.”
It sounded so logical Eliza could almost believe it. And perhaps if Aubrey worked hard and practiced enough, he could be the ring bearer at her wedding, she fervently hoped. But it was far too soon to mention that possibility. Still …
Robert took Aubrey to his cabin to prepare for dinner. They would be dining off the ship tonight, the last time for quite a while. But Eliza waved Clothilde off when she came for her, bidding her to help Robert, saying she wished to sit quietly for a short time. The fact was, Eliza had noticed Clothilde’s interest in Robert, and she thought it quite sweet. Besides, the air was so clear and the evening sky so spectacular in hues of violet and salmon, like streaks of color painted by a bold, heavenly hand. Was Michael viewing this same vivid sunset? she wondered.
Then a ship moved into her line of sight, cutting off her view of the sky and her thoughts of Michael. The vessel eased right up beside theirs, bumping up against the timber dock and swinging around slowly so that she thought they might even collide. But it righted itself—or rather, the burly navigator she could see at the helm righted it. Eliza stared in awe at both ship and navigator, for never had she seen such a unique pairing. The ship was a very dark wood, with round gun portals painted red running in a row down the side. At the front of the ship—fore, it was called—was a most revealing carving of a woman. A naked woman. The most private portions of her anatomy were concealed by a thick snake which coiled itself about her. But Eliza couldn’t help thinking that the snake made the sculpture far more lewd than if it had been just the naked woman alone.
Then there was the huge man handling the ship’s wheel. Eliza could not stop herself from gaping, though she knew it was horribly rude. It was just that she’d never seen a Negro before, for that’s what she thought
he must be. A Negro from the African continent. And what a magnificent sight he was. Tall, with arms as thick as tree branches, and short hair curling tightly around his dark face. Other sailors clambered up in the riggings as they did on the
Lady Haberton
, but the man at the wheel had captured her attention completely.
“Miss Eliza. Come along, miss. Please.” Clothilde had to give Eliza a sharp pinch on the arm to break her spellbound fascination with the man. “Captain says you shouldn’t be up here alone. Not while we’re in port anyways. St. Peter Port is a rather rough town, what with all these ships comin’ in and out—oh, my sweet Lord! Would you look at him!”
The dark-skinned man turned at that precise moment to stare at them across the short space between the ships, and both Clothilde and Eliza stepped back. He was no threat to them, so it was all quite illogical. But Eliza did not protest when Clothilde hurried her through the low hatchway and down the stairs to their cabin.
On the neighboring ship Cyprian was acutely aware of the
Lady Haberton’s
proximity. He looked up at Xavier’s approach after the first mate had tied the wheel in place.
“I don’t like it,” Xavier muttered to him. “We should not take the boy here. We are too well known in this place.”
“What difference does it make?” Cyprian replied, unperturbed by Xavier’s concern. “Once Haberton receives my letter, he’ll know who has his son.”
But that did not appease Xavier, judging by the man’s downturned mouth. “I cannot like this plan of yours, Cyprian. To harm a child is not your way—”
“He won’t be harmed.”
“No?” The big man’s jet black brows raised in skepticism. “There is no way the child cannot be hurt. You are
tearing him from his family, and that after he has already suffered some misfortune with his legs.”
“You worry without reason. I plan to take very good care of my brother,” Cyprian assured him. He took a grim pleasure in the surprised look that came over Xavier’s face.
“Your brother? But you’ve never spoken before of a brother.”
“My half brother, sired by the same man. So you see, Xavier, you need not worry about him. I personally shall see to his education and upbringing. He shall learn, as you and I did, how to survive in this world. And how to succeed.”
The first mate rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “So. This Haberton is your father. Does he know?”
“He does not. Nor does anyone else but you, and I would keep it that way.” He eyed his good friend assessingly. “Are you with me, Xavier?”
There was a long pause before Xavier answered, but Cyprian never doubted his friend’s response. “Aye, you can count on me. It will be good for you to have family again. It has been—”
“He’s not my family!”
This time Xavier shook his head and sighed. “Do you plan to ask for a ransom?”
Cyprian shrugged. “Perhaps, just for the frustration it will give Haberton to fail in his efforts to reclaim his son.”
“And will you explain all this to the boy so that he will understand and not be afraid—and not hate his brother?”
Cyprian laughed, though he felt no humor at all. “He can hate me for all I care, and he probably will. I’ll leave it to you to play mother to him. Just as you did for Oliver.”
Xavier snorted but he was not distracted. “You would have this titled young man become a rowdy sailor like
Oliver—like you and me—when he could be anything else?”
“What I want is for Haberton to exhaust himself searching for his son. His
sons,”
Cyprian amended bitterly. “The one son who he’ll want back at any cost, as well as the other son he’ll never be able to ignore again.”
T
he boy was surrounded by people. But the aging captain, the single manservant, plus the maid, the older woman, and the petite young woman accompanying him would prove no impediment at all to Cyprian’s plan. Oliver had easily befriended a few of the
Lady Haberton’s
crew at a nearby tavern. He had come back with the news that the captain meant to take them to dine at Duffy’s Lodgings in a private room, then return to their ship.
But when they set sail at the turn of the tide, just before dawn while the passengers yet slept, they would be missing one of their number. Young Master Haberton would be safely ensconced in the
Chameleon’s
hold. Let them think the boy had drowned for now. It would only increase Haberton’s suffering.
Cyprian took a long pull on the cheroot he held. All was quiet. The sun had set and most of his men had been granted shore leave, though they had strict orders to be back before the changing of the tide. Should they need to cast off early, he wanted the entire crew already aboard.
He watched the small party depart the ship and saw Oliver stroll along after them. Oliver was to keep a
watchful eye on them. Later he and Ollie would board the ship and snatch the boy.
Cyprian finished his smoke and promptly lit another. He coughed once, but the burning smoke filled his lungs and soothed his raw throat. He thought of the small chest of opium in his quarters and for a moment he almost succumbed to the temptation. But experience had taught him—the hard way—that deadening his senses with that seductive drug always came with a cost. He needed to be alert tonight. If, as it happened, he were primed more tautly than the most hair-triggered of his ship’s several guns, that was to the good. Time enough later to numb himself. He would save that for three days from now, the anniversary of his birth. The official anniversary of his abandonment by the man who’d sired him.
The night grew black. Clouds scudded in from the west. Yet still he sat alone on the deck. Two lanterns bobbing along the sloping street that led down to the docks marked the early return of the diners, and Cyprian shifted his position to the fo’c’sle head to better view their progress.
The boy was easy to see, for he was carried in the servant’s arms. What was wrong with him, anyway?
Cyprian flung his cheroot in the water and squinted at them. If the boy didn’t recover from whatever ailed him and never relearned to walk it would complicate things. But then, he could always become a street beggar. Wouldn’t
that
destroy Haberton.
Cyprian clenched his teeth in rhythmic spasms and for a moment he paused. He’d seen beggars in ports all over the world. The pitiful dregs of society, missing eyes or limbs and inevitably covered with sores. Like street rats they were, scurrying in the shadows, eking out whatever miserable life they could. Surviving on what others threw away.
He’d begged for awhile—until he’d learned that
thieves ate much better than beggars. He’d survived, he reminded himself, doing whatever he must to stay alive. Haberton’s son deserved no better opportunity than he’d had. He suppressed any sympathies he might have for the ailing boy beneath that one overriding conviction.
Aboard the
Lady Haberton,
Eliza held the hatchway door wide for Robert’s descent. In his arms Aubrey lay, rigid as stone. Gone was the laughing child of the past two days. Agnes had but to complain that the rolling chair would have been easier on Robert, and the boy had thrown a tantrum. The entire meal had been ruined and by unspoken consent they’d decided to leave the lodging house early. Now, however, though she was relieved to be rid of Aubrey’s unhappy presence, Eliza was no less eager to be confined with Agnes in the close quarters of their cabin. The woman was certain to expound relentlessly on how Aubrey should mind his father’s instructions. It would take all of Eliza’s effort not to snap at her, and at the moment she wasn’t sure all her effort would be enough.
“I think I shall linger a short while on deck,” she told Clothilde. “You go on down and tend to Agnes. I’ll join you both soon.”
“But miss, you shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m sure it’s perfectly safe. Isn’t it, Captain?”
“We’ve the watch posted. And I’ll have the gangplank pulled up.”
“There, you see?” Eliza patted Clothilde’s arm. “Don’t worry. I just need a few minutes to myself.”
The maid gave her an astute look. “Away from her, you mean,” she whispered wryly.
Once everyone had descended and the hatch door was closed, Eliza sank down upon the steps that led up to the quarterdeck. Nothing was going quite as she’d expected. Aubrey was impossible, though he was perfectly capable of being charming when he so desired.
Cousin Agnes, however, was surely the most insensitive of women. Why must she constantly bring up the one subject certain to set off Aubrey’s temper? How Eliza wished she could simply push that confounded rolling chair into the sea!
At the edges of her vision, a small light suddenly flared, then just as swiftly faded. It was on the ship nearest theirs and Eliza squinted toward the hulking shadow of it. The
Chameleon
. A lantern hung aft, and a light gleamed from one of the intimidating vessel’s lower decks. But like the
Lady Haberton
, it lay mostly in darkness, save for the tiny glow from the deck that she supposed was someone smoking. Was that their watchman? And could he be watching her?
Eliza drew her boxcloth mantle closer around her neck. The sea air was cold at night, even this far south. But it wasn’t the cold that made her shiver. There was something about that ship and its invisible watcher that struck a disturbing chord in her. It was so dark and bristled with so many guns. And then that vulgar figurehead. The ship and its crew seemed deliberately to flaunt the rules of good society. Why, they might even be pirates, for all she knew.
At that daunting thought Eliza rose to her feet and backed uneasily toward the hatchway. But she kept her eyes fastened upon the flickering glow from the other ship, and when it too started to move parallel to her, her heart began a fearful thudding. He
was
watching her! Could it be the fierce-looking African she’d seen earlier?
Then the tiny spark arced out toward her and she stumbled backward in fear. It fizzled out, of course. It was, after all, just the man tossing away the remains of his cheroot. But the darkness that remained afterwards spooked her even more. With a muttered imprecation—words she’d heard her brothers use but had never uttered herself—Eliza turned and fled.
Cyprian stripped down to swanskin breeches as he gave Xavier his last minute instructions. “Bring the dinghy aft, beneath his cabin. We’ll drug him to keep him silent and lower him to you. If anyone raises an alarm and you’re spotted, abandon the boat and swim to shore. It’s dark enough that no one should see you.”
“Am I to allow the poor tyke to drown, then?”
Cyprian slanted his first mate an aggravated stare. “Let him drown and I’ll drown you,” he muttered. And at that moment he meant it. He should never have revealed his reasons for this kidnapping to Xavier, but he’d needed to talk to someone. It had not changed Xavier’s opposition at all, however. That’s why Cyprian had decided to take Oliver on board the
Lady Haberton
with him and leave Xavier to man the boat.
“Try not to kill anyone,” he told Oliver, even as he strapped a sheathed knife onto his calf. “But if that’s what it takes to get the boy …” He trailed off, meeting Xavier’s frown with a mocking stare. Then he picked up a jug of Madeira wine and took a deep pull. “To success,” he said, passing the jug to Oliver.
“To the hunt,” Oliver added, an eager grin on his young face. He drank and handed the wine jug to Xavier.
The African held the jug in his wide hands for a long moment. Then he gestured toward Cyprian with it. “To our captain and to peace. May you find it someday.”
When Cyprian slipped from the dinghy into the icy waters of St. Peter Port Bay, Xavier’s words rang still in his ears. The man was clearly turning pious on him. Ever since he’d married that waif he’d rescued, Ana, the soft spot in Xavier’s heart had grown bigger and softer. But Xavier’s overdeveloped conscience was
his
problem, not Cyprian’s. As he and Oliver swam silently toward the sleeping ship that held his quarry, Cyprian buried all thought of Xavier and his disapproval. No matter what
his first mate thought, he could always be trusted nonetheless to follow Cyprian’s orders. Cyprian would stake his life on that fact. After all, they’d both staked their lives on each other too many times to count already. Xavier’s disapproval of this particular scheme would fade in time.
At the corner of the
Lady Haberton
, starboard side, Cyprian and Oliver tread water. “There are two cabins aft. He’s on the starboard side. But we’ll have to shimmy up the tie out for that rowboat.”
It was no task at all for them each to pull themselves up the coarse rope that kept the small boat alongside the taller ship. Oliver scaled it like a monkey, using all fours, while Cyprian just hauled himself up hand over hand. Years manning the riggings had developed his upper body so that such a climb took no real effort.
They hoisted themselves over the rail and crouched in the shadow of the poop deck, getting their bearings. Cyprian had spied someone in the shadows earlier, a woman, judging by her silhouette. But she’d not lingered long. Now there was only the solitary watchman, and he kept watch for a shore approach. If all went as planned, they would have the boy locked aboard the
Chameleon
before anyone raised the slightest alarm.
Across the sky a dull light flickered, followed a few seconds later by an unfocused rumble from the heavens. Good. A storm would cover any sounds of struggle with the boy’s servant. The wind blew, raising goose bumps on Cyprian’s wet skin, but he didn’t notice. The time for his revenge was at hand.
In her cabin Eliza heard the same roll of thunder. Another flash of light soon followed, and this time the thunder crackled its threat. A muffled cry sounded. Aubrey, she realized. She sat up, hoping Robert would be able to appease the child. But Aubrey’s cry came again. Should she see to him?
When lightning flashed another time, however, illuminating
their narrow cabin with its unearthly light, she knew she’d have to go. For although Cousin Agnes slept blissfully in her bed, Clothilde’s narrow bunk was vacant. If she were out, it could only be with Robert. And that, Eliza realized with a sinking heart, meant that Aubrey was alone.
A panic-stricken cry prodded her, despite her reluctance, to crawl from her bed. She donned her soft kid slippers and her pink quilted wrapper, and with a muttered oath about derelict servants, let herself out of the room.
Sure enough, Aubrey was alone. Both Robert and Clothilde would catch the rough side of her temper tomorrow, that was for certain, she decided as she hurried to his side.
“It’s just a storm, Aubrey. That’s all. There’s no need to be frightened,” she reassured him once she located him in the darkened cabin.
He was sitting up in the bed and at her touch, he grasped her around the waist. “I hate storms. I hate lightning. I hate thunder—”
He broke off at another ear-splitting crack and buried his face in her arms, and it was then Eliza recalled why he feared storms so. His horse had panicked and thrown him during a sudden summer storm. It had been brief but quite violent. A number of trees on their properties had been torn right out of the earth, she remembered. But the aftermath for Aubrey had been ever so much worse.
“Shh, shh,” she soothed, holding him close. “It will soon pass us by. You’ll see.” As she said the words, a quick patter of raindrops on the thick-paned rear-facing windows signaled an advancing wave of rain, and in a moment they were cocooned in the rush of sound. Aubrey’s thin shoulders heaved with his sobs and his tears soon turned her wrapper and gown quite damp. But Eliza could sense his emotional storm changing, just as
the storm outside shifted. Less furious sound and outrage; more muffled weeping and sorrow.
But it was awkward for Eliza to bend down to the level of his bed, and after a few minutes she sat down beside him. At once Aubrey curled up beside her, his sobs easing to occasional shudders and unpredictable hiccups.
“There. Better now?”
He shook his head. “It might come back.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Eliza countered. “The lightning is just at the beginning of the storm. Once the rains come the lightning and thunder always stop—”
A flash of brilliant light, followed immediately by a deafening crash made a liar of her. They both jumped and Eliza was certain her heart stopped.
“You see!” he cried, clinging to her in terror.
Eliza was not about to argue. Without thinking she huddled down beside him and drew the covers over their heads. Though she was not much taller than him, he curled into her arms like a petrified kitten. But he seemed marginally reassured by her nearness, and as the storm raged outside, rocking the ship at its moorings, they lay side by side in the warm nest of the boy’s bed.
“Tell me a story,” he whispered after a while of hearing only the rain and wind pounding against the windows.