Chapter 23
Four days later, on the twenty-sixth of April, Colonel Fitzwilliam stood beside Captain Morrison on the deck of the Mary Catherine.
Every muscle in his body was taut with the familiar tension that preceded battle.
The full moon that had blessed their crossing with brilliant light was now obscured by gathering clouds, casting the sea into an ominous darkness that suited their current predicament.
“Keep your voices down, lads,” Morrison said in a whisper. His weathered face was grim as he studied the horizon through his spyglass. “Sound carries farther over water than you might think, and we want no French ears or pirates catching wind of our presence.”
Richard nodded his approval of the captain’s caution.
They had pulled away from the Spanish coast into enemy territory, moving far enough into open water that they would be invisible to any observers on shore.
It was a sensible tactic. French territorial waters meant French naval patrols.
A British merchant vessel would be considered fair game for harassment, search, or worse.
Already, they had spotted a looming shadow trailing them that was large enough to be a warship.
They had no way to determine whether it was friend or foe, though the odds that the ship was friendly were slim to none.
The wind picked up suddenly, filling their sails and driving them further from the relative safety of the coastline.
Memories surfaced unbidden: the screams of artillery, the metallic taste of fear and gunpowder, and the sight of his friend Lieutenant Hawkins taking his last breath.
The French were efficient killers, he would grant them that.
“I would value your assessment of our situation,” Morrison said. “You have dealt with French forces before.”
Richard dragged his attention back to the present danger.
“They are methodical and thorough when they suspect someone is transporting munitions or items they are desperate to possess. If they find a reason to board us, they will search every inch of this vessel. What exactly are we carrying that might interest them?”
Morrison’s hesitation was answer enough.
Darcy and Mr. Bennet approached. They had heard the question, and all three waited for the captain’s reply.
“Standard trade goods, mostly,” Morrison said. “Textiles, preserved foods, some luxury items for the English community in Egypt.” Another pause. “And military supplies.”
“What sort of military supplies? Were those not offloaded in Gibraltar?” Richard’s voice remained controlled.
“Gunpowder and ammunition. Not the entire shipment I carried from London. I left the bulk of it in Gibraltar. What remains is destined for British forces in Malta.” The captain’s admission hung heavily in the salt air.
“It was a calculated risk. The British garrison is desperately short of supplies. This route offered the best chance of getting them through.”
The colonel’s blood turned cold. If the French discovered military contraband aboard a British merchant ship in their waters, it meant immediate confiscation of the ship and cargo, imprisonment or impressment for the crew, and God knows what fate for the passengers.
The women would become prisoners of war at best or, at worse, bargaining chips in whatever political games the French were currently playing.
Darcy would be ransomed. But he, with his hidden military coat, would be…
well, he refused to dwell upon the probable consequences.
“Where is it stored?” he asked tersely.
“False bottom in the cargo hold. Concealed well enough to pass a casual inspection. But if they start breaking open containers…”
“They will find it,” Richard said. His mind raced through possibilities and contingencies, none of them appealing.
He knew what happened to prisoners taken by French forces.
He had witnessed the aftermath of interrogations that had left strong men broken and weeping.
The thought of the ladies facing such treatment filled him with rage.
“What are our options if we encounter aggression?” Darcy asked.
“Run, primarily,” Morrison replied. “The Mary Catherine is fast and maneuverable. We left a considerable amount of cargo in Gibraltar, so we are riding higher than we did in the Atlantic. In open water with favorable winds, we might outpace a heavier warship. But if they corner us near shore or in calm seas…”
“We surrender and hope for the best,” Richard said, the words tasting like ashes in his mouth. “Though we cannot surrender without ensuring the ladies’ safety first.”
“How do we do that?” Mr. Bennet asked.
The colonel’s mind worked through contingencies he had hoped never to need aboard a civilian vessel.
“We prepare Miss Bennet and Mrs. Bell to pose as neutral passengers, not British citizens. Mrs. Bell has traveled extensively, so she might coach Miss Bennet in enough basic French to pass casual questioning.”
“Elizabeth speaks fluent French,” Mr. Bennet said. “And if that fails?”
“Then we fight,” Richard said simply. “We cannot win against a French warship, so we fight to buy time to hide or escape.”
The bleak reality of their situation shrouded the small group.
“I shall inform the ladies,” Darcy said after a moment.
“Not yet,” the colonel replied. “Let them enjoy their peace while they may. If the enemy warship draws close enough to threaten us, there will be time enough for fear and preparation.”
Morrison adjusted their heading, chasing every breath of wind to carry them quickly through the dangerous waters. “If this weather holds, we should clear French territorial limits in two days. Once we reach Italian waters, the immediate danger will pass.”
The wind gusted stronger, and Richard felt the Mary Catherine heel under the increased pressure.
Dark clouds continued to build overhead, promising weather that might help conceal their passage.
Unfortunately, it could also slow their escape if they were under pursuit.
As it was, whatever lurked in the darkness kept pace with them.
“Sir,” Morrison said. “Whatever happens in the next two days and nights…”
The captain’s apprehension told Richard more clearly than words that it was a French warship behind them. “Captain Morrison, I did not survive three years of French bullets to lose anyone under my protection now.”
Even as he spoke the words with conviction, Richard’s hand moved unconsciously to rest on the pommel of a sword he was not wearing. Long ago, he had learned that confidence was sometimes all that stood between survival and surrender. He would project strength until his last breath, if necessary.
The Mary Catherine sailed on through the darkness, carrying its precious cargo toward whatever fate awaited them in the uncertain waters ahead.
Elizabeth settled herself as comfortably as she could on the small stool in the galley, grateful for the warmth and companionship that surrounded her.
The evening had grown tense as they entered French territory, and she sought the comfort of female company instead of dwelling on whatever dangers might lurk beyond the ship’s protective hull.
“Well then,” Prudence said with determined cheerfulness. “I believe it is time that we know each other better.”
For the next several hours, they discussed everything from their youth to their current pleasures. Elizabeth was in the midst of describing her sisters when they were interrupted by the sound of rapid footsteps thumping loudly on the deck.
Tommy burst into the room, pale as chalk. “The cap’n sez we got a French warship on our tail.”
Behind him, Darcy appeared in the galley doorway. “Elizabeth, Mrs. Bell, you must gather your essential belongings immediately and move to one of the interior cabins. As Tommy said, a French warship is approaching.”
The words fell into their comfortable conversation like stones into still water, instantly shattering the peaceful atmosphere. The implications struck Elizabeth solidly.
“How close?” Prudence asked as the cook began stowing items on the shelves, tying them into place with ropes stretched over hooks in the wall.
“Close enough that we must take precautions,” Darcy replied. “Captain Morrison suggested the cabin next to the cargo hold. It is currently being emptied of crates. There are no windows, and it can be locked from the inside. You will be safer there until we determine their intentions.”
Elizabeth rose on unsteady legs, her mind reeling in sudden horror at the stark realization of their perilous situation. Their peaceful crossing of the Mediterranean had come to an end.
Early the following morning, the French warship, which had shadowed them until the sun began its slow climb to the horizon, drew closer.
Darcy’s fingers fumbled with the buttons of his fine wool coat, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The expensive fabric felt foreign and accusatory in his grasp as he stripped it away, followed immediately by his embroidered waistcoat.
He quickly donned garments borrowed from the boatswain, who was close to his size.
When he got to the deck above, Richard was barking orders in the clipped tones of command. His cousin, too, had changed to rough seaman’s clothing borrowed from the crew.
“Mr. Bennet, remove your watch chain and anything else that might indicate your gentleman’s status. If they board us, we must appear to be nothing more than merchant sailors.”
The older man had gone ashen, but his movements remained steady as he nodded, tucking his gold fob and chain into his pocket. His fingers shook as he pulled off his waistcoat and draped it over his arm. He returned below to stow his garment and reappeared within minutes. “How close are they now?”