Chapter 3
Annabelle politely held the governor’s arm as he escorted her and her small party to their carriage. She forced herself not to draw attention to the two coachmen seated on the drivers’ bench. Though she couldn’t see it from her vantage point, she knew one had a pistol trained on the other.
“Thank you again for your assistance, Governor Darby.”
“The pleasure is mine.” He placed a hand over hers.
“It is not often that I receive a visitor of such a fine pedigree as yourself.” His gaze traveled over her as he spoke.
“The diversion was very welcome.” He pressed down on her hand to prevent her from removing it.
“A shame you were unable to gain the information you sought, my lady. Not that I’m surprised.
The criminal element, you know. Utterly useless. ”
Annabelle tugged, pulling her hand away. “Yes, well, I hadn’t much hope. But I thought it worth an attempt.” She spoke quickly, stepping toward the carriage. “Goodbye, Governor Darby.”
“Lady Annabelle—” The governor looked as if he had more to say, but Annabelle did not give him the opportunity.
“Home please, Grieg,” she called up to the carriage driver.
“Right away, my lady.” He spoke in a false accent and nasally voice.
Annabelle hid a smile. She allowed herself a small glance at the wigged and liveried man seated beside him.
He didn’t meet her eye, scratching his cheek to hide his beard.
His face was turned away from the governor.
Annabelle smirked. Hawke didn’t know how lucky he was.
If he hadn’t come of his own free will and donned the disguise, Grieg would have knocked him unconscious and stowed him in the storage space beneath the carriage’s bench seat.
But, as they’d assumed, he was glad enough for freedom that he apparently hadn’t protested.
Not wishing to encourage further conversation with the governor, Annabelle took Shadbolt’s hand and climbed into the carriage, followed by Liza. Shadbolt joined them, closing the door and rapping on the ceiling to signal the driver.
Once the carriage was safely away from the prison, the three shared a relieved smile.
“Be pleased to never step foot in such a place again.” Liza’s voice was little more than a whisper. “The feel o’ melancholy . . . it seeps inside you.” She held herself and shivered.
Annabelle could not agree more. The air in the Marshalsea had felt heavy with despair and sorrow.
“There are fates worse than prison,” Shadbolt said, looking through the carriage window. “But they end quickly.”
It was Annabelle’s turn to shiver. Hanging was the penalty for convicted pirates, and she couldn’t bear to think of any of her friends meeting that fate. She looked through the other window.
After nearly an hour of twisting and turning through the city, the carriage drew to a halt near the new St. Paul’s Cathedral.
As soon as the group had stepped down onto the road, Shadbolt tossed his coat and wig back inside, rubbing his bare head in apparent relief.
The two carriage drivers joined them, shedding their own disguises.
With the street being so public, Greig had put away the pistol, but he stayed closer than usual to Hawke, occasionally resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. Hawke had no reason to remain with them, and he could very well run, which would negate all the effort they had gone to in order to free him.
“Splendidly done,” Annabelle said to all of them. She grinned. “The plan went off without a hitch.”
“Don’t know if I’d say that.” Grieg shot Hawke a look, and then he motioned toward the carriage with his chin. “Have a look in there, then.”
Shadbolt leaned inside, moving the discarded uniforms and lifting the bench’s seat.
From the storage space beneath it, a man sat up. He held up a hand to shade his eyes from the sunlight, blinking until his gaze landed on Hawke. “We’re safe now, are we, Hawke?”
“We’re safe,” Hawke confirmed. He glanced at Grieg. “Relatively,” he muttered.
This must be why Hawke hadn’t run.
The man clambered from his hiding spot and came to stand with the others. Beneath the stolen prison guard’s uniform, he was exceptionally thin with wide gray eyes and wispy hair that stuck out at all angles. His beard was scruffy, and his clothing threadbare.
“He was beneath us the whole time?” Liza asked, putting her hand in front of her nose. “Can’t believe we didn’t smell him.”
The man didn’t appear offended by her assessment, regarding all of them with open curiosity.
“Tim Kelly, allow me to introduce Lady Annabelle Bradford and company.” Hawke’s flat look had the same effect as an eye roll. “Our . . . rescuers.”
“Wouldn’t leave without him,” Grieg explained, clearly irritated at being made to deviate from his plan.
Tim hadn’t looked away from Annabelle. He stepped toward her. “You rescued us?”
“Ah, yes.” She motioned to her companions. “Well, we all did it together.”
“Thank you.”
The words were spoken in so genuine a tone that Annabelle was taken aback. “You are welcome,” she said.
Tim took something out of his pocket, offering it to Annabelle.
She took the ordinary looking rock, and she was tempted to toss it on the ground, but seeing Tim’s expression, she understood that his gesture was heartfelt. The rock was, for some reason, significant to him.
“It’s smooth all over,” Tim said. “Feels good in your hand.”
Annabelle held the rock in her palm, taking a moment to admire its smoothness. “It does, indeed.”
Tim nodded, apparently pleased.
“Come along, Hawke,” Grieg said, patting the man’s shoulder. “We’re all going to have a little chat.”
“Captain Hawke,” he corrected as Grieg gave him a small shove.
Moments later, the six were sitting around a table in the corner of a quiet tavern.
A server brought plates, and the two former prisoners fell on the food, eating as if they hadn’t been properly fed in months. Which, Annabelle realized, was exactly the case.
In spite of her irritation with “Captain” Hawke, she felt sorry for the man for what he must have endured. But he had been in prison, which was rarely a place for innocent people. And she would not allow pity to color her actions. Not when Court’s life was on the line.
Once it appeared their appetite had been somewhat sated, Grieg pulled the basket of buns from his reach. “Now then, Hawke. You’ve some information we need.”
Shadbolt shifted, and the small movement somehow made him seem larger, menacing. Annabelle had never seen him in that way, and the sight was unsettling.
“Where is the island?” Annabelle asked.
Hawke leaned back in his chair, wiping the side of his mouth with his thumb. He didn’t answer.
Shadbolt shifted again. He took a small knife from inside his vest and started to examine it, testing the blade for sharpness.
Liza’s eyes went wide.
Annabelle set a hand on Shadbolt’s arm. They wouldn’t resort to threats. Not yet at any rate. She was certain she could convince Hawke to give them the information by appealing to his better nature. Surely he possessed some conscience.
“What I told you before was the truth,” she said, infusing emotion in her voice to stress the gravity of the situation. “We must find the island in order to save my godfather, Captain Courtney.”
“And what I told you before is also the truth,” Hawke said. “I cannot help you.”
His apathy infuriated her. “You cannot? Or you will not?”
Hawke shrugged. “I don’t see that there is any difference.”
Annabelle scowled. She looked at the others at the table. Tim was setting a handful of rocks in a row, telling Liza about them proudly. Neither Shadbolt nor Grieg had a particularly sinister expression, but the way they sat perfectly still told her they were angry.
Hawke took a drink, setting down his mug and sighing. “I will set your mind at ease on one point. Courtney would never return to that island.” His voice dropped at the last two words, and he seemed to be repressing a shudder. “Never.”
“He had no choice,” Annabelle said. “He was forced to go. And we must find him. We must save him.”
“Then, I’m afraid your quest is hopeless,” Hawke said. “He will not return alive. And if you pursue him there, neither will you.” The smugness left his expression, but the stubborn set of his jaw remained. “I am sorry about your godfather, Lady Annabelle, but truly, I am doing you a kindness.”
Annabelle scoffed. “Don’t tell me you believe in the curse.”
“It is not a matter of believing,” he said. “What happened was real.”
“It is nonsense.” Annabelle looked at Shadbolt and Grieg for their agreement, but neither looked as skeptical as she’d hoped. “We freed you from that horrible prison.” She set her hands on the table, leaning forward. “You owe us.”
“They did free us, Hawke,” Tim said. He smiled warmly at Annabelle.
Hawke glanced at his friend, then looked back. “I didn’t ask you to.”
“So you would rather we’d just left you there.” She shrugged. “It would be easy enough to return you. The governor would welcome you back with open arms, I’m sure.”
“I would rather you left me alone,” Hawke said. “But given the choice between Isla de Plata and the Battersea, I’d chose the latter without a second thought.”
Tim’s eyes went wide, and he grabbed Hawke’s arm. “Don’t want to go back there.”
Looking at his friend, Hawke’s brows pulled together, just for a moment.
Well, at least he cared about something.
Annabelle clenched her hands into fists in her lap as she tried to think of how to convince him to help.
A sense of urgency mixed with hopelessness.
“Well, then we will force you, just as Captain Blackham did to my godfather.” Try as she might to discipline it, her voice cracked, betraying her emotion.
“Blackham?” Hawke asked. He squinted, appearing deep in thought.
Annabelle didn’t reply, swallowing hard and trying to hold back her tears.
“We won’t have to force him,” Shadbolt said, his quiet voice commanding attention. “We have something better.” He looked at Tim.
“Leverage,” Grieg said. His gaze was focused on Tim as well. “Your friend’s coming with us either way, Hawke.”