The sirens captain, p.19
The Siren's Captain, page 19
The people of Grace-by-the-Sea had indeed done their best for their hero. Mr. Greer had sent up a tonic to alleviate pain and aid in sleeping. Arnie Williams had contributed a fine mutton stew from the Mermaid. Not to be outdone, the Truants at the Swan had offered beef tongue and chestnuts. If it hadn’t been November, Ree had a feeling flowers would have been clogging the corridors as well.
“And this is how you repay their kindness?” she scolded Quill when she found him standing in his bedchamber, dressed in a navy coat and buff breeches and apparently nearly ready to go out. “I thought we agreed you would stay abed.”
“We agreed I would pretend to be gravely ill,” he countered, making deft work of the cravat at his throat. The snowy white made the tan of his skin all the more evident. The slight bulge in the sleeve of his tailored coat gave evidence to the bandage beneath. “Nothing says I must lounge in bed.”
“So long as he avoids being seen,” Mr. Archer suggested from his perch on the chair. He must have left at some point, for he was dressed in a better coat than she’d seen so far, a bottle green that set off his russet hair. Now he glanced out the window as if suspecting the sparrows darting past of spying.
“I cannot like it,” she insisted.
Quill finished the knot with a nod of satisfaction. “I suppose this doesn’t align with your plans you’ve made with the ladies of Grace-by-the-Sea.”
She felt her cheeks heating, but she raised her head. “We need all the allies we can get at this point.”
“True,” he allowed, turning to face her. “And what have our allies decided?”
“Only that they will scour the village,” Ree promised. “They know everyone, are known by everyone. If they can marshal their forces, the villain will be found. Which means you only have to stay in this room a while longer.”
Quill turned for the door. “Or not at all.”
Ree put herself in his path. “Wait! What if you have visitors?”
“Alex is posted in the village to deter as many as he can,” he said. “I trust you and Hugh will make short work of the rest of them.”
That took more effort than anyone had suspected. She could not imagine how many Alex had sent back, because she and Hugh became accustomed to the knocks at the door. Lord Featherstone, Mrs. Harding, and Mr. Crabapple arrived as a group and had to be turned away with a word of thanks. Mrs. Greer tried her best to enter and had to be more soundly rebuffed by Hugh. Lord Peverell and his bride might have been on their honeymoon, but that didn’t stop Elizabeth from coming by to ask if there was anything she could do.
Ree saw to her herself, shooing Quill back up to his bedchamber before she met with the viscount’s sister in the sitting room.
Elizabeth looked pale, her hazel eyes turning down, as if Quill’s injury had touched her.
“And how is our stalwart captain?” she asked as she perched primly and properly on one of the armchairs. Hugh had kindled the fire, and the glow was reflected in her tawny hair, sleeked back from her heart-shaped face and secured in a bun behind her head with mother-of-pearl combs.
“Improving, I hope,” Ree said, choosing her words carefully. “But we cannot think him recovered yet. There is fever to consider.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Always a concern in a wound, I understand. Do you need anything? Sustenance? Additional servants?”
“We are sufficient,” Ree assured her. “I know the captain will be touched by your concern.”
“He’s been very good to my brother, Rob,” she explained, gloved hands gripping the strings of her beaded reticule in the lap of her grey lustring gown. “He helped us capture our steward, who, as it turned out, had been sending secrets to France.”
Ree perked up. “And this steward, he is in jail?” she asked as if only interested in the gossip.
Elizabeth’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, rippling the black braiding on her short jacket. “He was taken to London to be interrogated by the War Office. We haven’t been told what they intend to do with him afterward. I do hope the captain will take no lasting injury from the attack. My father and mother had many years ahead of them when their yacht sank. And of course my oldest brother, Thomas, was expected to ascend to the title.”
Ree reached across to touch her hand. “I am so sorry for your loss. My father died fighting for France. They all left us too soon.”
She nodded, gaze on her hands.
Ree pulled back. “There is one mystery you might solve for us.”
Elizabeth glanced up. “A mystery?”
She could not hide the eagerness in her voice. Miss Peverell needed an occupation or at least a diversion.
“The militia found the gun they think may have been used to fire at the captain,” Ree explained. “It was a Baker rifle. No one in the area is known to have had one. Could it have come from your brother’s collection?”
She frowned as if thinking. “Rob’s not much for weapons, but Thomas was. He may well have had a rifle among his belongings at the Lodge. I can make a thorough accounting of what remains and whether there’s any gap in the display. But if something is missing, that would mean this miscreant had access to the Lodge.”
Once more she sounded more intrigued than worried. “You and I have agreed that your home here is large and long,” Ree ventured.
“Both Rob and I have noticed how easily someone might slip in and out, and we’d be none the wiser,” she said. “Still, someone stealing weapons? That’s something that should be investigated.” She gathered herself and rose. “I shouldn’t keep you any longer. I imagine you’d like to be at the captain’s side.”
Ree stood as well. “I would. Thank you for your help.”
“Of course. And if you need anything, please, let me know. It’s rather quiet at the Lodge with Rob gone. I’m grateful for some way to be of use.”
“Mademoiselle Fortier,” Mr. Archer called, striding into the room. “He’s calling for…” He stopped and stared.
Elizabeth stared back.
Ree could have danced between Elizabeth and the War Office agent, launched into her most rousing chorus, and she had a feeling it wouldn’t have made the least difference. As it was, she cleared her throat, twice, before either of them stirred.
“Mr. Archer,” she said, risking the use of his last name, “Miss Peverell was just leaving. She is going to check the weaponry at the Lodge to determine whether the Baker rifle that was used to shoot Captain St. Claire might have come from there. As you can imagine, she is concerned that a thief would access the house, particularly when she is there without her brother at the moment. Perhaps you could escort her?”
He held out his arm. “I would be honored.”
Blushing, she accepted his arm and allowed him to walk her out.
~~~
By the end of the day, Quill was pacing his bedchamber. Funny how he’d never noticed he had such little space to do so. He’d shared a bed at the foundling home with two other boys, had his own bed in a room with three other lads at Eton, and slept in a hammock among the crew at first before earning his own cabin aboard ship. This room might have been plenty big for a fellow, if he hadn’t felt confined to it.
It hadn’t helped that he’d had to confront Hugh. His bosun denied setting fire to the Siren.
“I never, Captain,” he vowed, one hand on his heart and gaze bereft. “I know the value of her, to us and to England.”
Quill still wasn’t sure whether to believe him.
“That seems to have been the last of our visitors for the day,” Ree announced from the doorway. “The vicar extends his most heartfelt wishes for a swift recovery.”
“And am I still at death’s door?” Quill asked, taking the two short steps to her side.
She sniffed, gaze turning mournful. “Alas, yes. Even Doctor Bennett’s ministrations and the application of our fine spa water have not healed you. But I hold out hope.”
He chuckled. “The consummate actress until the end.”
“The end being the capture of this criminal, not your demise,” she informed him, moving aside to let him out onto the landing. “Gideon seems to have spent much of the day at the Peverell Lodge.”
So she and the War Office agent had decided to call each other by their first names. Quill frowned as they started down the stairs. “How many weapons could the Peverells have? When they were captured by smugglers recently, their staff defended the house with cleavers and a warming pan.”
“I doubt it was simply the weapons that kept him busy,” Ree said. “I sent word to the spa for Maudie to visit as well, so that Elizabeth had a chaperone. Mr. Archer appears smitten.”
“At least he moves more quickly at love than at his work,” Quill said. He had no interest in sitting, going instead toward the windows that looked down toward the cove. Ree bristled, but she must have decided it was late enough in the day to be safe because she joined him to gaze out. Below the cottage, the assembly rooms glowed gold as they welcomed villagers and spa guests to the weekly assembly. Farther away, the Channel gleamed silver in the light of the setting sun. The ripples spoke of a breeze.
“Good night to sail,” Quill mused.
“No,” she said. “Please, Quill. You must not make yourself a target again. We are so close to catching him. I can feel it.”
He wished he could. He felt hemmed in on all sides, squeezed into a box too tiny for his frame. “And what if you’re wrong? What if this drags on for days, weeks?”
She turned to face him, look determined. “I will remain until you are safe.”
“Why?” Quill challenged. “You don’t appear enamored of the War Office, though you are far more talented at your craft than any agent they’ve sent before or since. You owe these people nothing.”
“Neither do you,” she pointed out. “And yet you stay, even knowing that your role as Lord of the Smugglers could be discovered at any moment.”
He looked out at the rooftops below the cottage. “I suppose Grace-by-the-Sea has become home.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. Home was a foreign concept. But I think I might be happy here, long after the war has finally ended.”
“Me too.”
The words were so quiet, he wasn’t sure for a moment she’d spoken. “The famous singer, content with the adoration of a tiny village?”
She made a face. “I could do with less adoration and more true friendship.”
He couldn’t help himself. He raised his hand and caressed her cheek, marveling at the silk of it. “Is it only friendship you want, Ree?”
Oh, but she could make those dark eyes soulful. This time he found himself held captive.
“No,” she murmured. “No, I want so much more from you, mon cher capitaine.”
Hugh came through the door from the kitchen, then, toweling off his hands. “Dinner’s about ready. How many am I serving?”
Quill only wanted to send him packing. For a moment, he’d thought Ree meant to confess she wanted to make their pretend engagement real. Was that only his fancy, the longing of his heart? He’d never accustomed himself to their game. It had always felt true. For the first time, he had someone he trusted.
“I will stay until Gideon or Alex returns,” she said.
Which could be forever as far as Quill was concerned.
In the end, he didn’t have a moment to speak privately with her until the next day. Gideon had spent the evening in the village, looking for information. He arrived just before she did in the morning, and the three of them gathered in the sitting room with Hugh leaning in the doorway to the kitchen, shutters firmly closed over all the windows so Quill would not be seen by anyone who might attempt a visit.
“And what did you learn at the Lodge?” Quill asked Gideon as Ree went around lighting the lamps.
Hugh straightened. “The Lodge? What’s happened at the Lodge?”
“It’s not the ship,” Quill assured him. “This is about the weapon used to fire on me. Correct, Mr. Archer?”
Gideon nodded. “Miss Peverell’s oldest brother and father had quite a set of long guns and pistols. I take it they’d done some hunting in the area when they visited. Very organized and mounted in cases. The one empty slot made it clear a long gun was missing. We can’t know it was the Baker, but it’s quite possible.”
Hugh was whiter than a new sail, and he listed into the sitting room like a ship taking on water. “Are you saying someone broke into the Lodge and stole a gun?”
Gideon nodded. “So it appears. I cannot like Miss Peverell staying there alone at the moment. Mrs. Tully has volunteered to move in with her if need be.”
“It won’t be enough,” Hugh muttered, hands wringing in front of his food-stained breeches. “Not if he can get into the house.”
Quill stiffened. “He? What do you know, Hugh?”
Hugh swallowed, gaze darting among them as if seeking a friend. “I should have told you long since, but I thought they’d forgotten about me. Then this fellow shows up at the door and tells me it’s my time. I couldn’t do it, could I? You’ve been good to me.”
Quill couldn’t make heads or tails of the ramblings. “What are you talking about?”
Ree cocked her head. “You set the fire.”
Hugh nodded. “Aye, to my sorrow. But I was trying to save the captain’s life.”
Gideon rose and took a step toward him, shoulders squared and eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you better start at the beginning.”
“It’s a long tale,” Hugh said, tone turned wheedling. “Not worth the telling, really.”
“Out with it,” Quill ordered.
Hugh cringed. “All right, then. You remember when you got me out of jail, Captain?”
“I agreed to take you on as a servant in exchange for paying your fine,” Quill said. “I remember.”
“You said you’d put my skills to good use. And you did! First time I ever smuggled for England instead of myself.” He paused to draw a breath, gaze focused on Quill as if his opinion was the only one that mattered. “But it wasn’t the first time I’d smuggled, of course. I used to carry anything, sometimes even people who wanted to come to England, and not because they were fleeing old Boney.”
Quill’s stomach tightened. “You were one of the smugglers in Napoleon’s pay.”
Hugh bowed his head, voice now directed at the wood floor. “He paid better than most, for not a great deal of work that I could see. That stopped when I started working for you.”
“As well it should,” Gideon put in heatedly.
“So what changed?” Quill asked, unwilling to give the man any quarter.
Hugh chanced a glance up, licking his lips. “Three weeks ago, a fellow came to the rear door while you were out. Claimed to have been sent from Napoleon with a message for me. The emperor needed one more act of service—to kill you.”
Gideon stepped closer to Quill and Ree rose to join him. Quill couldn’t take his eyes off his bosun.
“I couldn’t very well tell him no,” Hugh said, “not with him standing there ready to kill me if I refused. So I asked for a few days. Then I tried to convince you to leave. I even pretended to be harmed, but you wouldn’t go!”
“You dare to make this appear his fault!” she cried.
“Well, it is, isn’t it?” Hugh challenged. “He didn’t have to go to France so often, spitting in Napoleon’s face each time. He could have left when you told him the jig was up. But oh, no. He has to stay on course even when the wind is dying.”
Quill crossed his arms over his chest. “Get on with it, Hugh.”
His bosun’s chin was up now, back straight. “Well, I argued with the fellow. Told him Napoleon didn’t need to kill the captain, just stop him from sailing, and the best way to do that was to destroy the Siren’s Call. Takes a while to pay for a ship. The captain’s not that rich. I figured he’d give up if his ship went down.”
“But you could not expect half the village to turn out to help save it,” Ree said.
“No,” he grumbled. “Especially on his lordship’s wedding day. I thought by coming to tell you the Siren was on fire, you wouldn’t guess it was me that set the blaze. So that didn’t work either. But the ship was damaged enough we thought maybe I could keep you here on land.” He snorted. “But oh no, not you. You had to take her out in broad daylight, in front of anyone with eyes to see.”
“The assassin saw us and knew the ship was seaworthy again,” she guessed.
Hugh nodded. “And he decided to do the deed himself.”
Cold settled over Quill. “If you know so much about what he thought, what he did, you must know how to find him.”
Hugh took a step back from them. “I do. He’s not the sort that could fit in at the spa, and he wasn’t keen on hiding out in an abandoned building for long. I got him a job cleaning up the debris from the storm at the Lodge. He’s been staying in the boating shed there.”
Gideon started. “The Lodge! Miss Peverell could be in danger.”
Chapter Twenty
“Halt!” Quill demanded as the War Office agent pivoted toward the door. His incapacitation hadn’t harmed his voice of command, for Gideon pulled up short to glare at him.
“We are going nowhere until we have some answers,” Quill told him before turning to Hugh. Ree had taken up a position next to his bosun, and her hairpin twitched in her fingers.
“Name our foe,” he ordered, “and anything you know about him.”
Hugh edged away from her, gaze fixed on the gleaming point of the long steel pin. “He goes by Darnell, just like he told his lordship. You’ve seen him, hanging about the headland. He may look like a lumbering bear, but he can strike faster than a hawk diving for its prey.”
“What will he do when he knows he is discovered?” Ree asked. “Fight? Run?”
“He won’t run,” Hugh assured her. “He can’t fail or it’s his life. Napoleon gave him until the twenty-third to get the job done.”
Ree frowned. “The twenty-third? Why is that date important to the tyrant?”
