The sirens captain, p.5
The Siren's Captain, page 5
“You have lived here three years now, Captain?” she asked.
“Since I left the hospital, yes,” he answered, “But if we are going to be engaged shortly, perhaps you should call me by my first name.”
“Very well, Quillan,” she said, then she hesitated a moment. It would be easiest for him to call her Marie. That was closer to the name the villagers and their guests had heard. But something inside her longed to hear the familiar, the beloved again. She squared her shoulders. “I prefer Ree. It was my mother’s name for me. My father chose Marie-Louise to honor the aristocracy. I prefer to honor my mother.”
“Ree it is, then,” he said. “Ree, my darling. Ree, my dulcet dove.”
The effusion was both endearing and egregious. “Ree will suffice.”
He chuckled as they turned past the cove and started back up the street. “Whatever pleases you. I will do my part to appear besotted. However, I have a feeling with all the adulation coming your way, I may be the one having to rescue you, and not the other way around.”
She ought to take umbrage. She had been taking care of herself, and her father, since her mother had died seventeen years ago. At only eleven, she’d kept house for her father, protecting him from his worst decisions.
“We should get a cow,” he’d say, dashing into the withdrawing room of their little house off the Chateau de Bagatelle, the Comte d’Artois’ home in Paris. “His highness is fond of cream.”
“Our garden is too small for a cow, Papa,” she had told him. “But I will see where we can purchase cream if we need it to impress his highness, the comte.”
“Scarlet,” he’d say over breakfast. “His highness was remarking how he adores the color. We should redecorate the dining room.”
“Since the king’s brother never visits us here, perhaps we should order you a waistcoat in the color,” she’d suggested.
She hadn’t been able to argue him out of following the comte into exile. That had saved their lives. She had no doubt they would have fallen prey to the guillotine, like so many they’d known in Paris who had refused to flee. Worse, she’d been unable to dissuade him from following the comte’s orders to attack France at Quiberon, where her father and his friends had died. She’d lost everything then—family, home, protection.
How nice it would be to have someone who wanted to protect her for a change.
Even if it was all pretend.
Chapter Five
When was the last time he had strolled with a lovely lady on his arm? The envious looks the other gentlemen were shooting in Quill’s direction were guaranteed to put a swagger in his step. Wait until they heard he and Ree were engaged.
He reined in his thoughts. It was all pretend. That’s why he had decided to return to the spa that afternoon, to further the ruse that he was pursuing her. And it gave Alex and Hugh time to go down to the Siren, which was berthed at the Peverell pier below the viscount’s Lodge, and take care of a few things in preparation for their next trip to France.
“So, any idea how we might find Napoleon’s agent?” she asked as they wandered back past Mr. Carroll’s Curiosities. The dapper shopkeeper glanced out his window, crowded with miniature automatons, colorful books, and other delights, and smiled encouragingly at Quill.
“None whatsoever,” Quill told Ree. “It’s remarkably easy to hide in plain sight here. I’ve been doing it for years.”
She shook her head, a stray curl teasing her cheek. Good thing his hand was anchored on hers where it draped over his arm, or he’d be tempted to tuck the curl away himself.
“People generally see what they want to see,” she said, gaze out over the village. “Too many villains take advantage of that. What about him?” She tipped her chin toward a well-built man across from them near Mrs. Rinehart’s millinery shop. Though he stood as straight and proud as any footman from a great house, Quill couldn’t spot a member of the aristocracy or the wealthier families nearby. And he wore a tweed cap pulled down to shadow his face, revealing only a fringe of russet hair. His boots shifted on the roadway as if he weren’t sure whether to go forward or back.
Quill frowned. “Let’s make his acquaintance.”
He crossed the street, moving casually enough so that they wouldn’t arouse suspicion. The fellow didn’t seem to notice them approaching. His gaze was fastened on All the Colors of the Sea, the shop owned by painter Abigail Bennett, the physician’s wife.
“Lovely day for a walk,” Quill heralded as they drew abreast.
He started, then dropped his gaze and touched the brim of his cap respectfully. “Lovely day indeed. Madam, sir.” He turned and strode back up the street.
Ree disengaged from Quill. “Stay here. I will follow him.”
Quill caught her hand before she could move. “My beloved, dashing off after another man? Certainly not. What would the neighbors say?”
She tugged against his hold. “We are not betrothed yet. And not likely to be unless you release me at once.”
Quill tsked. “Now, now. You continue shopping, and I’ll follow him.”
“You? You’re far too obvious.”
Quill raised his brows. “And you aren’t?”
She succeeded in freeing her hand at last. “I may be obvious, but he’s more likely to stop and chat with me than he is with you. Now, stay here.”
She was whipping up the street, muslin skirts swinging under her pelisse, before he could catch her again.
Maddening woman. Still, the fellow likely wasn’t a French spy. They may have hidden in plain sight, as he’d told her, but few had loitered in the middle of the shops, gazing longingly at the goods. More likely, the stranger was the next in a line of ineffective intelligence agents sent by the War Office to determine what was happening in the little village. Of those who had been sent, Ree was by far the most talented.
But, just to be on the safe side, he slipped around behind Beautiful Bonnets and darted up the back alley to where it intersected with Castle Walk.
Ree was standing on the corner, head turning back and forth.
“Where’s your spy?” Quill asked, joining her.
She didn’t look the least surprised to see him materialize from around the nearest cottage. “I don’t know. He was ahead of me. I had to stop for a passing carriage, and then he was gone.” She humphed.
Quill glanced around as well. Many of the shopkeepers lived on Castle Walk in neat thatched-roofed cottages with gardens fronting the street. A few of the cottages were rentals. More rentals had recently opened up on a perpendicular street, Lavender Lane.
“Can’t be that many places to hide,” he ventured.
She sighed, turning for the top of the hill. “I suppose we will simply have to keep watch for him. He cannot escape notice in the village for long. What do we plan for tomorrow?”
“Services,” he said. “At St. Andrews. I’ll collect you at the Swan at half past ten, and we can walk to the church. That ought to set a few tongues wagging.”
She cast him a look out of the corners of her eyes. “Do you not usually attend? Or is it that you never attended with a lady before?”
“Both,” Quill acknowledged. “I do my best to keep my distance from the village. Easier for my work.”
She nodded. “I do the same. When you let people too close, you become a danger to them.”
The philosophy was much like his own. Yet he could not help pointing out the result. “Makes for a lonely existence at times.”
Those sooty lashes were fluttering again. “Why, Captain, I’m certain a dashing fellow like you is never alone for long.”
“Nor is a lovely lady like you,” he countered.
“Shall I walk you home?” she offered.
Quill barked a laugh. “No. It’s broad daylight. I should be able to protect myself for the short distance to Dove Cottage. You can watch from the Swan, if you insist.”
“I do.” In companionable silence, they walked up the hill to where the Swan stood bright and cheery along the roadside. There, he bowed to her, then continued on to Dove cottage.
But he felt her gaze on him the entire way, light as a dandelion seed and warm as eiderdown.
~~~
In a place so friendly, the stranger should stand out like a raven among sparrows. Ree asked around the inn, but no one claimed recognition.
“Not many with red hair,” Nancy Haughsby, one of the maids at the inn, admitted when she brought Ree her dinner that evening. “Mrs. Kirby has a lovely shade, but it comes from a bottle, I hear. And then there’s Mrs. Bennett. She’s a daring one, starting a shop, leading the Women’s Militia. She sometimes wears trousers.” She sounded positively envious.
Ree hadn’t been introduced to Mrs. Bennett yet, but she wasn’t sure whether to believe the buxom maid about the trousers. None of the ladies she’d met at Grace-by-the-Sea seemed that daring. Certainly, they all attended church the next day with devoted looks and bowed heads.
Except, of course, those ladies who were sneaking peeks at her and Quill.
He’d called for her just as he’d said, today dressed in a double-breasted tan tweed coat with large brass buttons. It should have been respectable, unobtrusive, but that shock of black hair and the tan of his skin still made him look out of place. He escorted her to a pew about in the middle of the church. The older women, sisters by the look of them, seated there moved over to give her and Quill room, and the younger of the two may have squeaked a little.
“Miss Pierce and Miss Amelia Pierce,” he greeted them. “I believe you have heard of our famous visitor, Mademoiselle Fortier.”
“Indeed,” the older said with a nod to Ree while her sister clasped her hands in front of her tailored redingote, eyes wide in awe. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” Ree assured them both.
The service started then, so they were spared further conversation.
It was a pleasant enough service, the verses read in clear voices that rang with conviction, the sermon delivered with veracity even if the slight, grey-haired minister tended to bob his head as if emphasizing each point. The chapel too was lovely, with dark-wood box pews and stained glass windows that broke the light into the colors of jewels.
But she couldn’t quite forget the man beside her. Piled into the pew with the Misses Pierce, she and Quill could not help brushing against each other every time they rose or sat. The wood might have been polished with beeswax, the scent hovering in the air, but she was certain there was a hint of brine as well. Perhaps it was the village’s proximity to the sea.
At the end of the service, another man stood up to read the banns for Lord Peverell and Mrs. Hester Todd, a widow in the area and apparently the sister-in-law of their spa hostess. The Denby sisters had indeed done well for themselves to catch the interest of the two ranking landowners. If the assassin was not located before next Sunday, would someone read the banns for her and Quill?
It had been some time since she’d thought to hear her name linked with a man’s. When she was a girl, she’d considered marrying a courtier one day, a man adept in flattery and longing glances, who followed the wealthy about adoringly. That had been her father’s life. Below it lay the life of a servant, forever working with little thanks. And above it lay a sphere she knew she would never reach, the glittering world of the aristocracy and royalty.
But if they called the banns for her and Quill next week, would the minister send the information to her home church in London? What would her acquaintances think to hear her name read? Could she find the assassin before the three weeks of reading were up?
He did not appear to be in church. She kept glancing around when she could but spotted no sign of the red-haired man or anyone else unexpected. Quill had a quiet word with the magistrate about the stranger but had little time for anything else. Everyone was entirely too happy to remind him of their acquaintance and welcome him, with shy looks to her.
“We’d love to have you and Miss Fortier to dinner,” Mrs. Greer warbled after she’d elbowed her way to Quill’s side. Ree had learned the lady was the wife of the Spa Corporation Council president. “Say five?”
“I regret that my wound may make that impossible,” Quill told her. “All this walking and standing about tends to tire me.”
Once again, they all cooed their support.
“I see what the magistrate means,” Ree said as Quill led her out of the church. “Your wound is a good excuse to do what you like.”
“One must have some compensation for taking a bullet for Britain,” Quill said, nodding to this gentleman and that lady.
“Oh, was it a bullet?” Ree asked brightly. “I thought a spar fell on you.”
“That too. I’m sure there was a cutlass involved as well.”
Ree shuddered. “My, but you were badly used. Surprising that you survived.”
“It seems I had more to do on this earth,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. “It is the burden of the great.”
She gave it up and laughed.
He spent the afternoon at the spa with her, looking so thoroughly besotted that everyone commented on it.
“I believe you have inspired him, Mademoiselle Fortier,” Mrs. Harding said as Quill attempted to best her beau at chess.
“Pirates usually favor gold,” Maudie said, frowning at Ree’s dark hair.
“Perhaps he’s after the money I earn singing,” Ree told her, and Maudie nodded wisely.
“And what of our Newcomer author?” Ree asked, glancing around. She hadn’t noticed Mr. Guthrie at church. But he had spent much of the afternoon moving about the spa, speaking to this person and that, and always with a little notebook and pencil in his hands.
“He asks a lot of questions,” Maudie said, gaze going to where the author was listening to Lord Featherstone, pencil scratching.
“An interested gentleman can be quite refreshing,” Mrs. Harding said with a fond look to her betrothed.
“Depending on what he’s interested in,” Maudie countered darkly.
“And where do Mr. Guthrie’s interests lie?” Ree asked, watching the older lady.
“Mermaids, trolls,” Maudie supplied. Then color climbed in her cheeks. “Me.”
As if to prove it, Mr. Guthrie raised his gaze from his notebook and sent her a glance of such longing Ree’s brows went up. Maudie broke off their conversation to join him.
Ree sang again at three, to great applause. As she finished the last song, Mr. Chance came through the door. Quill had introduced her to the lanky youth when he’d arrived yesterday to escort him home. Now he ventured up to Quill and said something in his ear. Interesting. She made her way straight to their sides as soon as she was finished.
Quill, who had been lounging against one of the pillars, pushed off and smiled at her. “That was lovely.”
The younger man swept her a bow. “Well done, Mademoiselle Fortier. Always a pleasure to see you.”
“And you, sir,” Ree assured him. “Your captain is forever singing your praises.”
Red tinged his lean cheeks. “If I’ve pleased my captain, I count that a good day’s work.”
“She’ll never believe a word you say if you lay it on that thick,” Quill complained.
He chuckled. “I was warned she was on to us.” He lowered his voice. “Thank you for protecting the captain, mademoiselle. We all depend on him.”
Quill scowled at him. “And that’s enough of that as well.” Suddenly, he pasted on a smile and sidled closer to Ree. “A wonderful rendition, my dear. You nearly had me in tears.”
“Me too,” Maudie said, joining them. “What are you three up to?”
“Nothing,” Alex said quickly.
She gazed at her nephew, lower lip out. “Nonsense. Your ears twitched.”
He fingered an ear. “My ears do not twitch, Aunt.”
“When you’re lying, they do,” Maudie insisted. “The fairies commented on it as well.”
Alex dropped his hand. “Tell the fairies to mind their own business.”
Maudie drew herself up. “I’m sure I’d never be so rude. I quite agree with Mr. Guthrie. You must speak calmly and civilly if you wish a fairy to answer.”
Ree glanced around again. “And where is Mr. Guthrie now?”
“He had an appointment with the mermaids at Durdle Door,” Maudie said. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”
Now, there was an excuse. What was the author up to?
Maudie turned to her nephew again. “And what are you doing with yourself, Alexander Chance? Here’s a perfectly lovely lady come to the spa, and you let Captain St. Claire steal a march on you.”
Alex was reddening again. “Aunt.”
Ree tucked her arm in Quill’s and gazed up at him. “Your nephew could do nothing, ma chere Maudie. One look from the captain, and my heart was captured.”
He bent his head closer, as if whispering words of love. “Alex’s ears may twitch, but you seem to lapse into French right before you lie.”
“I shall have to remedy that,” she whispered back.
Quill straightened. “Was there ever a man so fortunate? My dear Maudie, I wonder if I might ask a favor?”
Maudie shook her head. “I’ll never convince the mermaids to leave your ship alone. They’re too fond of you.”
“And I am equally fond of them,” he assured her. “But I was thinking more along the lines of your chaperonage. I’d like to invite Mademoiselle Fortier to my home on Monday, but I wouldn’t want to jeopardize her reputation. Would you be willing to accompany her?”
Maudie cast Ree a look, and Ree made sure to smile winsomely.
“Well,” Maudie hedged. “I don’t know. I had plans that day.”
“Trolls marching?” Quill guessed.
She frowned at him. “Don’t be daft. That’s scheduled for Tuesday.”
“Ah,” he said. “Well, perhaps you could find time on Monday.”
“I suppose,” she allowed. “I’ll go ask Jess.” She hurried off in the direction of the hostess’s stand.
