Chapter Twelve #2
Mr. Thompson guided the schooner close, his lips twisted in wry amusement.
Josephine took a few steps toward the railing.
The slap of waves between the hulls drew her gaze down and she swallowed.
How was she supposed to get over to the Red Siren?
Her eyes scanned the deck, but her heart fell when Samantha was nowhere to be found.
A shadow flashed across the deck, accompanied by the whistle of a rope cutting through the air, and a thump came from behind them. Josephine spun with a gasp as a form rose from a crouch.
“Samantha?” The name came out in a croak as she stared.
Gone was the periwinkle dress. Instead, Mr. Thompson’s wife stood in skintight leather breeches with a ruffled white blouse tucked in, showcasing curves any woman would be envious of.
Her flaming hair blew loose in the wind under a cavalier hat with a jaunty red feather. A rapier hung from a belt at her waist.
Josephine blinked. Samantha looked like…
She looked like a pirate. Her lips curved as she set a hand on her hip. “I knew I’d like you, Miss Montclair.”
With eyes still wide, Josephine stepped forward. “You…” She glanced toward the Siren, where Mr. Thomspon stood, overseeing his crew as they fastened ropes between the two ships. “He… How?”
“I prefer dressing like this while at sea. It’s much more practical, especially in that it allows for more movement in battle.”
Isaac scowled. “Do not give her any ideas, she’s troublesome enough as it is.”
“Of course, Lieutenant.” Samantha winked at Josephine. “Let’s get back to the ship before we upset him further.”
The crew had slung a rope ladder across the gap between the vessels and Josephine gulped. Lieutenant Caldwell waved her forward. She paused at the railing, panic rearing in her once more.
He cleared his throat. “Make it quick, Miss Montclair, we must be on our way.”
She reached out and took the rope but as soon as her fingers closed around it, she froze. A hand settled on her shoulder and she jumped as Samantha pulled her back.
“Good heavens, Isaac. No need to be a bully after what just happened.” Samantha shot him a dirty look and stepped past Josephine out onto the rope ladder. “Take both sides and follow me. As long as you hold on to the ropes, you’ll be just fine. I’ll be right here to help you.”
Josephine swallowed, but Samantha’s ease helped her take the first step.
Though the ladder swayed with the ships, she held tight and focused on getting her feet on each thin wooden rung.
Samantha stayed one step ahead of her, encouraging her, until toward the end, a small smile tugged her lips. Not so terrible after all.
Once her feet landed on the deck, the lines were swiftly untied, and the sails unfurled. The ship eased into motion as wind filled the sheets, the mainmast creaking as the schooner turned to open sea.
Mr. Thompson strode down from the quarterdeck. “What were you thinking going up into the rigging? You could have been killed.”
Josephine winced and Samantha swatted his arm. “Oh, don’t be crabby. I’m sure Isaac already gave her an earful.”
Mr. Thompson glanced behind them, where the Tempest had begun to catch up. “Twice in a row. I dare say you’ve put him into quite the mood.”
Josephine rubbed the toe of her boot into the wood decking. “He’s quite upset.”
Mr. Thompson chuckled and glanced at Samantha, his eyes softening. “Wounded pride will cause people to say things they normally wouldn’t. If it makes you feel better, I can vouch for his character. He’s a good man.”
Josephine couldn’t help a small smile. “I knew that the day I met him. Unfortunately, I’m fairly certain he never wants to see me again.”
“I’m sure he’ll come around.” Samantha patted her shoulder. “Let’s get you into my cabin. I’ll move Christian’s things out and you and I will share it.”
“Oh, please don’t do that. I don’t want to inconvenience you two.”
“Don’t worry yourself. You’ll be safest there.” Mr. Thompson dipped his head. “And please, call me Christian.”
Samantha led her to the main cabin. “I’m going to go help. Why don’t you get yourself situated? Feel free to change, or not.” She winked.
Josephine paused with her hand on one of the carved doors. “You help out on the ship?”
Samantha’s lips curved. “But of course. It is my ship after all.”
“Yours?”
“It was a wedding gift from Christian.” With another grin, she spun and headed toward the quarterdeck.
When the door shut, Josephine dropped her rolled up hammock.
Sunlight streamed through windows along one wall of the spacious room, glistening from oiled floorboards.
The pleasant scent of lemon filled the air and she walked over to a wall of built-in shelving.
An extraordinary collection of shells lined two of the shelves, and Josephine couldn’t help reaching out to pick up a few.
The carved desk in the center of the cabin drew her attention and she stepped over.
Two large chairs were pushed in, one on either side.
A double set of maps and navigational instruments were laid out.
Her lips parted. Samantha didn’t only own the ship, it looked as though she and her husband split captaining duties. Fascinating.
She grinned at the differences between both sides of the desk.
On one side, items laid in disarray, the bent corners of the topmost map weighed down by shells.
The other, everything lined up neatly, maps crisp and flat.
Her hand drifted forward to brush the cool brass of a weathered compass.
A stack of paper, tied together with twine, sat directly in the middle of the maps with a single word scrawled across it: Thorne.
She glanced between the desk and the doors.
Snooping in the Thompsons’ paperwork was the last thing she should do.
Still, the chance to know more about what they were heading into pulled at her.
Not now. With a swallow, she turned to her hammock and began unpacking her things.
Plenty of time to learn more during the rest of the journey.
*
Josephine leaned against the railing on the quarterdeck where the lights of Wilmington stretched before her. She glanced up to the crow’s nest, where Samantha had climbed as soon as they had tied up to the dock. With a shudder, she lowered her gaze. Not a spot she would ever be inclined to visit.
Masculine voices floated up and she edged toward the rail overlooking the main deck. Her heart skipped a beat when the lieutenant came into view, standing next to Christian.
“I want to go ashore now, before word spreads that the Navy has arrived. If there’s any smugglers or pirates around, they will clear out by tomorrow.
” Lieutenant Caldwell strode to the railing.
“I know you want to interview survivors, but if we go to a tavern without announcing who we are, we may be able to glean important information from those sorts. The attack happened right off shore here, so it’s possible Thorne or his men visited the town. ”
“I suppose it won’t hurt. I’ll have to change into something more casual.” Christian looked the lieutenant up and down. “So will you.”
With a nod, the lieutenant turned and headed toward the gangplank. “I’ll meet you in a quarter hour.”
After Christian descended below deck, Josephine gave one last look up the main mast, then made her way to the cabin.
If the last day and a half had given any indication, Samantha would stay up there for over an hour.
Watching her captain the ship had been a treat.
The men listened to her as well as they did Christian, and Samantha knew everything about the Siren, never faltering in her instructions to the crew.
In the cabin, she passed the hammock she’d hung from the rafters and sank into a chair at the desk.
The stack of parchment from yesterday had disappeared when Christian had retrieved his things.
Should have looked when she had the chance.
Never mind. Tonight, while the men were ashore, she’d ask Samantha to tell her everything.
Meanwhile, she should get to work on the letter she’d decided to write. If the lieutenant could send her father a missive, so could she. Perhaps she could convince him to let her stay with the Ross family longer. Not likely, but she had to try.
She eased open a drawer, looking for fresh parchment.
Nothing but a knife and logbook. The next drawer revealed a few blank sheets and she grinned.
As she lifted the top one, her fingers shifted the stack and a string of twine peeked out.
She paused. Could it be? Pushing the sheets back, her pulse jumped. It was.
Pulling the stack free, she set it on the desk in front of her.
With a hurried look behind her at the closed doors, she leaned forward and untied the string holding it together, shuffling through the pages within.
Some had ship names and crew manifests while others had hastily written notes about eyewitness accounts of Thorne.
Brutal. Cruel. Merciless. No survivors.
She shivered at the words that seemed to repeat themselves over and over again. Another page had a sketch of a man—middle aged, prominent eyebrows, and a well-manicured beard. Handsome in a rugged way. She blinked at the words scrawled below the portrait.
Captain Thorne.
She’d never seen him in person. Anytime his ship had sailed into the harbor in Tortuga, her father refused to let her leave the house.
Not that it mattered. He rarely came ashore, sending his giants to do his business instead.
Colette said she’d seen him once, that he was good looking until you saw his eyes.
Soulless, she’d said—the eyes of a monster.
With a shudder, Josephine turned the page over and sucked in a breath. “What in the…”
Her fingers trembled as they slid over the paper, tracing a drawing there. She fumbled with the ribbon around her neck and pulled it over her head. The key slipped from her grasp, falling onto the page with a hollow clink. A cold dread spread through her veins, settling like a stone in her heart.
The drawing matched the carving at the key’s bow.
She shook her head as her eyes darted back and forth between the drawing and the key. The palm fronds. The skull. The Latin inscription. All of it the same.
An address had been written neatly below it.
15 Queen St.
Norfolk
Another line, this time words blending together with splotches of ink.
Dead end. Nothing but an empty building.
The sheet had wrinkles from being crumpled up at one point.
Perhaps Mr. Thompson had meant to throw it away, but had changed his mind and returned it to the stack.
Her key had something to do with all this—she could feel it in her bones, though what exactly, she had no clue.
If she could find out more information, and prove she was more than just a burden, perhaps she could finally win the lieutenant’s favor.
With a thundering heart, she took the piece of paper and folded it, tucking it into a pocket in her skirt.
Voices came from outside and she crossed to the open window.
The lieutenant and Mr. Thompson walked down the dock, and she watched them until they melded with the night’s shadows.
She sighed, imagining the very proper lieutenant strolling into a tavern and trying to get information.
The men inside would see through him without hesitation.
People always assumed pirates were stupid. In some ways, yes, they were. But one thing was certain: a pirate would do anything to save their neck—in other words, expertise in identifying and avoiding the law practically ran through their blood.
Too bad she wasn’t going along.
Her gaze settled on the wardrobe and she opened the door. Inside, Samantha’s blouses hung next to a stack of haphazardly folded breeches. Stretching her hand out, she ran her fingers over the supple leather of the closest pair. A slow smile spread across her face and she pulled them free.