Chapter Twenty
Tuesday morning, with a lingering chill in the air and secrets whispered by the old walls, the day began in quiet determination.
The Redwake had come into port before dawn, its arrival quiet, its crew even quieter.
But Mary-Ann had noticed. She’d seen the name before, inked beside a symbol no one wanted to explain.
And still, no one had. Not Barrington. Not Quinton.
She had watched them both and read between the lines, what they didn’t say.
If answers didn’t come to her, she would go looking for them herself.
The ship sat low in the water, its hull stained from long use and sea spray, the lettering on its stern faded but still legible.
Mary-Ann stood a short distance away, her bonnet tilted just enough to shade her eyes without appearing secretive.
She had chosen this ship for one reason only. No one aboard would know her face.
She kept her expression mild, almost aimless, as she strolled closer.
The bustle of the docks helped cloak her movement, men calling out cargo counts, gulls shrieking overhead, and the constant creak of wood and rope.
She wore a simple walking dress, the kind any woman might wear while delivering a message or collecting a package.
A stray strand of hair tickled her cheek, but she didn’t brush it away.
Any unnecessary movement might draw notice.
Her gloves were unadorned. Her curiosity, however, was sharp.
She circled toward a stack of crates near the gangplank, pausing as though checking a tag.
A few paces away, a dockworker barked at another man to shift the balance of the load.
None of them looked twice at her. That was the advantage, wasn’t it?
No one questioned a woman with a soft voice and well-stitched gloves.
A manifest was pinned near the cargo ramp, fluttering slightly in the breeze. She stepped forward, adjusted her gloves, and leaned in.
One of the lines caught her eye: a crate bound for Durham, recorded at a weight she knew was false.
She’d seen its duplicate listed elsewhere, and that one had been almost half the size.
Her pulse quickened. She followed the entries down the page, eyes narrowing.
There. Another. This one is bound for a smaller town upriver. It, too, was overweight.
She stepped back, glancing toward the crates. If she could find the one labeled for Durham—
“Careful there, miss.”
The voice was close and unfamiliar. She turned as a hand reached toward her shoulder, not roughly, but firm. One of the dockhands, his sleeves rolled high and his face ruddy from the sun.
“This ship isn’t for the curious. Best be on your way.”
Mary-Ann lifted her chin. I was told that a parcel arrived on this vessel. I only meant to—”
“You don’t want to be on this one,” he said, his voice lowering. “Some cargo fights back.”
It was the kind of thing a man only said when truth was more dangerous than silence.
Her heart gave a single, hard thud.
The man’s gaze flicked toward another sailor, and Mary-Ann felt the shift. She had lingered too long.
She stepped back at once, murmured a polite thank-you, and turned down the dock with steady steps. Her spine prickled as she walked as if the air behind her had thickened. Not hurried. Not yet.
Only once she reached the corner past the warehouse did she let out her breath. Her palms were damp inside her gloves. But she had something now. Confirmation. The Redwake was part of it. Whatever it was.
*
The dock behind her faded with every step, but Mary-Ann’s mind refused to still. Her heart had steadied, but her thoughts had not. If danger truly lurked behind those crates, and someone had warned her away, it meant she was closer to something real. And she was no longer content with shadows.
She walked along the path edging the cliffs, the sea churning far below. The wind tugged at her shawl, reddening her cheeks, but she didn’t mind. Her nerves needed the air.
He stood near the overlook, eyes fixed on the docks far below. From this height, the ships were no more than shadows gliding through water and mist, but he’d seen her. Plain dress. Steady step. Too close to The Redwake. He hadn’t followed. Not yet.
She hadn’t gone far before she saw him.
Quinton.
He stood ahead on the path, half-turned toward the horizon, coat buttons gleaming faintly in the light. He turned before she could call out, as if he’d known she was coming all along. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, everything between them went still.
“Out walking?” he asked, voice gentle.
“Something like that.”
She hadn’t meant to see him. And yet, part of her wasn’t surprised.
They fell into step easily, the space between them filling with the rhythm of shared silence.
It surprised her how natural it felt. Like stepping back into a melody she hadn’t realized she remembered.
No tug, no resistance, just the ease of someone who saw her as she was.
She didn’t speak of The Redwake. He didn’t ask.
But the air between them was rich with the things they didn’t say.
They used to walk like this most evenings, circling the edge of town with no particular destination in mind. He would ask about her day, and unlike most men, he actually listened. He never hurried her, never spoke over her. The memory surfaced with quiet clarity, softening something in her chest.
“You look well,” she said at last.
“I’m getting there.”
A pause. Then a small smile tugged at her lips. “You were always good at returning from impossible places.”
“And you,” he said quietly, “were always the one I wanted to return to.”
She looked at him sharply, her heart stuttering, but his gaze had shifted back to the sea.
They stopped near the overlook, the sea roaring below.
He reached for her hand but didn’t quite take it. Instead, his fingers brushed hers. He hesitated, his mouth parting slightly as if to say more. But then his jaw tightened, and he glanced away.
“Be careful, Mary-Ann,” he said. “Especially now.”
She wanted to ask what he meant and question him until the truth spilled out. But the look in his eyes stopped her. It wasn’t fear. It was guilt. And that, somehow, unsettled her more.
Her breath caught. In that brief contact, she felt steadied. The storm of the morning, the doubt of the docks, none of it reached her here.
There was more. She could see it, feel it, in the tension at the corners of his mouth. But he said nothing else, and she didn’t press him. Not yet.
It was hard, knowing he held something back. Harder still to act as though she hadn’t felt it. For the first time all day, she didn’t feel alone. And that surprised her more than she expected.
She returned home with the sea wind still in her hair and Quinton’s warning echoing in her mind. He hadn’t said much, but she’d seen enough to know he was holding something back. And not just for his own sake. That unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Rodney arrived later that afternoon, unannounced but confident, as always. Mary-Ann had just slipped on her gloves and reached for her shawl when the butler announced him.
“I thought we might walk,” Rodney said brightly. “The weather’s quite fine.”
“I have tea with Mrs. Bainbridge,” she said, motioning toward the clock. “I’m expected shortly.”
“No need to worry,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I’ve taken care of that.”
She blinked. “Taken care?” The words felt foreign in her mouth, as if something had been decided for her while she wasn’t looking.
“I thought it prudent,” he said smoothly, “to arrange for a companion. A lady’s maid. She’ll accompany you for errands and such. It’s not quite fitting for you to be wandering about alone. And she’s already met with Mrs. Bainbridge and rescheduled your tea for tomorrow.”
Mary-Ann blinked, stunned not just by the assumption but by the timing.
She had intended to review the latest bills of lading that morning.
Cross-reference them against the weights from the Redwake’s manifest. Now, with a stranger installed in her shadow and her schedule upended, that plan dissolved like steam from the kettle.
Mary-Ann stood very still. Rodney didn’t seem to notice her stillness, or he chose not to. He forged ahead as if her silence were agreement.
“You arranged my schedule. Without asking.”
“It’s for your own ease, darling. Things will be different once we’re married. You won’t have to concern yourself with all these…details.”
It wasn’t kindness. It was dismissal, wrapped in lace.
She managed a smile, cool and distant. “How thoughtful.”
He didn’t notice the ice beneath it.
Mary-Ann didn’t remind him that she wasn’t his wife yet.
But the thought struck, sharp and cold. Nor did she argue.
Not yet. But something in her had shifted.
It was subtle, like the first breath before a storm.
Rodney thought he was protecting her. In truth, he was fencing her in, and she’d never taken kindly to cages.
Rodney, pleased with himself, left shortly after.
Mary-Ann did not watch him go. Instead, she sat alone in the quiet that followed, letting the day settle like dust around her.
There was much she could not say. But more, so much more, that she would no longer allow to be taken from her.
Not her judgment. Not her freedom. And certainly not the shape of her own life.
Mrs. Bainbridge arrived the next morning at Seaton House with a bouquet of crumpled correspondence and an air of high distress.
“We can’t possibly set a date until Lord Maythorne confirms his travel plans.
And now Lady Pomeroy is threatening to host a musical on the second of next month!
” She dropped one letter onto the sitting room table, then another, as if the very paper betrayed her.
“If we wait too long, we’ll be buried under satin and scandal. ”
Mary-Ann, watching from the doorway, smiled faintly. “Surely not a scandal.”
“Certainly a scandal,” Mrs. Bainbridge huffed. Then, as if remembering, she pulled a narrow envelope from her reticule. “Oh, this arrived at the school. A donation for the Lifeboat Trust Fund, I believe. I didn’t find any note inside.”
She handed the envelope to Mary-Ann without a second thought.
Mary-Ann’s fingers closed around the envelope. A curious mark pressed into the wax caught her eye, a bird with its wings spread on a diamond-shaped design.
Her smile faded. She’d seen it before. Not in any manifest, but in the margins of the cloth-bound booklet Hamish had hidden. This was the same symbol.
She ran her thumb across the seal, pulse ticking louder in her throat.
She drew a slow breath, heart steady now with purpose. If one had found its way to her, others would too. And this time, she would be watching.