Alistair sneered in contempt as he draped a cloak over the body and proceeded to wrap another around himself. “Perhaps not, but you think nothing of stealing the last crumb out of a widow’s mouth and leaving her to die in poverty.”
“I never knowingly killed anyone!” Rudd argued in defense of himself as they maneuvered the handcart into the lane.
“Well, you never knowingly killed this one either,” Alistair mocked, turning his wide mouth into a derisive smirk. “Can’t you realize what a stroke of luck this is?”
“Wouldn’t necessarily call killing a man luck.”
“With naught but one blow and no mess left behind? If that isn’t luck, my friend, what is it?”
“Cold-blooded murder, I’d say.”
“Bah! You’re squeamish!” Alistair accused, and tossed his head. “You’ll reap almost as much from this as I will, and then you can drown your conscience in as much brandy as you please.”
“Wish I had a drink now.”
“Later! We’ve got work to do now!”
Rudd couldn’t answer. He was gasping for breath as he pushed the handcart toward the river. Following the narrow lanes that ran behind the row of houses, they reached the Thames without setting foot on a major street. They saw no one and, as far as could be reckoned, were seen by no one. It was a convenient hour for dumping a corpse. Proper ladies and gentlemen would be retiring for the night. Their servants would be finishing up with their chores and doing the same.
The mists rising off the river and the darkness enveloping the city combined to obscure the pair and their burden from even a casual glance cast from a back window. When they finally left the shelter of the lanes and ventured across the Strand, their good fortune held firm. Only a few carriages were passing, the windows shuttered against the night chill, the drivers slouched in their redingotes.
“Quickly now,” Alistair implored as they reached the water steps near the bridge. “Let’s dump him and get out of here.”
Rudd took hold of the front of the cart while Alistair held up the back. With nary a thump, they lifted it down the steps. At the bottom, Alistair paused to indulge himself in a moment of victory. Then, with a little smile of satisfaction, he tilted the cart and dumped the body into the black water. The faint splash could hardly be heard above the gentle lapping of the river against the bridge pilings. As they watched, all that remained of Thomas Ely floated away on the fast-moving current.
Half an hour later, the handcart had been returned to its accustomed place, and Rudd was seated in the library in front of a fire. Since his return, the level of brandy in the decanter sitting near his elbow had rapidly diminished. Sybil had been put to work straightening up the clutter that had been left after their frenzied search, and though she had balked, all that had been required to silence her grumbling was a threatening glower from Alistair.
Alistair had joined Rudd in the library, but he hadn’t needed any strong fortification of spirits. It was enough for him to pore over the papers that Thomas Ely had thoughtfully brought to the house. A warm glow of satisfaction filled him. Everything he had ever wanted was within his grasp. He could now live as he had always wanted to. He would have his heart’s desire. Nothing and no one would ever stand in his way again. His ambitions and smile were totally unrestrained. Indeed, he felt better than he had in years. He was powerful, secure, happy! People spoke so harshly about the foul deed of murder, but they were ignorant of the marvelous sense of serenity it could impart. He was just turning that thought over in his mind and relishing it when his eye drifted to the bottom of the final page of Lydia’s will, the one which he was about to consign to the cheerful flames. There, in neat copperplate, three words leapt out at him:
Copy to File.
His throat clenched, smothering a scream of pure rage. His mouth opened and closed but no sound emerged. Rudd remained oblivious as he gulped his brandy, but he started abruptly when Alistair’s fist began hammering the desktop.
Rudd looked around with brows elevated to a lofty level. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
Heat suffused Alistair’s face as he crumpled the will in one hand. His eyes were hard chips of obsidian lit by raging fury. “There’s a copy of the will!”
“Of course, there’s a copy. You really didn’t think Mr. Ely brought the only one in existence, did you?”
“Forgive me,” Alistair rejoined scathingly. “Not being one of your blood-sucking peers, I was unfamiliar with common legal practices.”
“I could have told you there was a copy, perhaps even more than one.” Rudd’s eyes narrowed owlishly. “What are you going to do about it?”
What indeed? Alistair sat back in the chair, finally releasing his tenacious grip on the bundle of papers. He forced himself to breathe deeply and steadily. The pleasant satisfaction he had felt moments ago had faded. He made no attempt to recapture it. But the calm he had felt after killing Ely reasserted itself. He allowed it to wash over him like a soothing tide.
“We’ll have to find Cerynise now.”
Rudd sighed heavily. “Had a feeling you’d say that.”
“Since you’ve anticipated my needs, suppose you tell me how to go about fulfilling them.”
“She said she was going to find passage to the Carolinas,” Rudd mused aloud. “We can probably find her near the wharf looking for a ship to take her home.”
Alistair’s jaw slowly lowered as he stared across the room at the barrister. At times it amazed him just how astute Rudd really was.
The heavier man hoisted himself out of the settee. “Don’t know how she’ll pay for the fare, though, seeing as how you left her with only the clothes on her back.”
“She’s a woman. She’ll find a way,” Alistair sneered. “She was too hoity-toity to consider servicing my needs, but she’ll damn well belly up to a sot what’ll give her passage home.”
“Don’t intend to start looking for her tonight, do you?” Rudd asked, weaving his way toward the desk.
Alistair raised his eyes in disgust to his companion. “You’re drunk again!”
Rudd smiled blandly. “Drowning my conscience, as you prescribed, Dr. Winthrop.”
“We’ll start our search in the morning,” Alistair muttered, having no other choice. It was doubtful that any of the seafaring captains would enjoy being disturbed from their duties or pleasures at this time of night. “See if there are any ships going to…where was it?”
“Charleston…in the Carolinas,” Rudd reminded him.
“Oh, yes…Charleston…the Carolinas. If anyone has seen her on the docks, ’tis likely they won’t forget a tempting little morsel like Miss Kendall.”
“Perhaps she’s been abducted and is earning her keep in the brothels,” Rudd suggested. “I could start my search there. That should occupy me for a time.”
Alistair laughed mirthlessly. “But I doubt the harlots would be entertained. No, we’ll begin our search on the dock in the morning.”
If the solicitor was inclined to argue, Alistair’s malevolent grin quickly dissuaded him. This was, after all, the man whom Rudd had watched turning out the body of his victim into the Thames without so much as a blink. Rudd wasn’t about to cross him now or even in the future. He had a nightmarish aversion to his carcass being pulled apart by greedy little fish.
Four
BILLY TODD FROWNED as he glanced down at the breakfast tray that he had brought to the captain’s cabin an hour earlier and had just now returned to fetch. “Aren’t ye feelin’ well, miss?”
“Oh, yes, very fine,” Cerynise readily assured him, unwilling to confess her inability to sleep during the night and elicit questions that she’d prefer not to answer. “I feel better than I have in some days now.”
“Then might ye be likin’ some other kind o’ vittles?”
Cerynise smiled and shook her head. Billy was being very thoughtful and going out of his way to see to her comfort, no doubt on the captain’s orders. “I’m just not hungry this morning, tha
t’s all.”
“Mr. Monét does it up fine, as ye can see, miss, but if there be anything else ye’d rather have, I’d only be too glad ta fetch it for ye.”
Cerynise was put to task to imagine what else could have tempted her pallet more than the meal he had brought, for it had looked even more delectable than her first sampling of Philippe’s extraordinary cuisine. But the reason for Beau’s departure had remained obscure to her during a restless night of tossing and turning, and she hadn’t felt at all like eating when her every thought was fraught with worry that her presence aboard ship had somehow motivated him to seek lodging elsewhere. She certainly hadn’t wanted to impose upon his gentlemanly forbearance or be an encumbrance of any kind. Then, too, the memory of the harlot fondling him had set her imagination sharply awry and the burgeoning suspicion that the two had gone off together seriously thwarted her serenity. What that doleful conjecture had evoked within her could have been likened to a prisoner being hauled by weighty chains down steep dungeon steps. No matter how much she had struggled to overcome an encroaching dejection, she had felt her spirits descending precipitously into a gloomy pit.
“Fruit and tea will be enough this morning, Billy,” she insisted. “Really.”
The cabin boy gave her a shy grin. “The rest makes ye feel like a Christmas goose, eh, miss?”
Cerynise was surprised by his conclusion and lamely confessed, “I hate eating alone, Billy, but most of all, I fear I’ve displaced the captain from his quarters.”
The boy brightened at once. “Then ye’ll be happy ta know the cap’n is back, miss. Arrived a good hour ago, he did.”
She might have found his news infinitely more comforting had Beau made some effort to come to his cabin, bid her morning tidings or even ask how she had fared throughout the night, but he hadn’t. Such simple etiquette might have done much to convey some small concern for her well-being, and she could only assume that he had no interest in carrying on their friendship and would likely be relieved when she was gone.
Cerynise couldn’t bear the thought of being slighted by Beau and grew increasingly anxious to be on her way before she actually became cognizant of his disregard. “Then I shall make haste to pack up my possessions and ready myself for the move to Captain Sullivan’s ship. I’m sure Captain Birmingham would enjoy having some privacy after being away all night.”
Billy wisely assumed an amenable mask. The captain was not in the best of moods, and the lad could only guess that whatever the man had gone searching for, he hadn’t found it to his liking. “No need ta hurry yerself, miss. The last time I saw the cap’n, he was talkin’ with the mate ’bout the crated furniture what’s being brought aboard.”
“Furniture?”
“Aye, miss. The cap’n will be shippin’ a load o’ it back wit’ us. All ’em wealthy folk livin’ in Charl’ton like the idea o’ gettin’ furniture from the old country. Usually they’re the first ta come aboard after the Audacious arrives in port.”
“Captain Birmingham seems to be a very enterprising man,” Cerynise mused aloud. She could readily understand how he might be so occupied with business that he had little time to spare for cultivating friendships or affections.
Billy wasn’t quite sure what the word enterprising meant and could only assume that it had something to do with being resourceful. If so, then enterprising described his captain exactly. “I best be on me way, miss. The cap’n is wantin’ his breakfast in Mr. Oaks’s quarters, an’ I’ll be hearin’ ’bout it from him if’n I don’t have it there in short order.”
“Mr. Oaks’s quarters?” Cerynise’s brows gathered. If Beau had returned an hour ago, then he could just as well have joined her for breakfast instead of eating a solitary meal in the mate’s cabin. It was becoming increasingly evident that he was making every attempt to keep his distance from her.
“Aye, miss. The cap’n didn’t want ta disturb ye.” After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the youth added his own conjecture, “I guess ’cause o’ ye an’ him not bein’ married an’ all.”
“Oh.” What more could she say? The youth’s statement only solidified her belief that the captain was trying to avoid her.
An hour later, Cerynise felt quite civilized garbed in a pale peach gown. Tiny tucks were sewn in multiple V’s down the front of her short-waisted bodice, and a stiffly pleated, silkier fabric served as a ruff of sorts. Satiny thread of the same hue finished the edge of the fabric, causing the pleats to flare charmingly outward from beneath her jaw like the petals of a flower. The sleeves were long and generously puffed at the tops, but closely fitted otherwise, ending at the wrists with a scalloped treatment of flaring pleats. A trio of pleated flounces, as long as her forearm, cascaded in tiers down the skirt.
Cerynise had brushed her long hair until it gleamed, tied it securely near her crown, and swept the entire length several times around the top of her head, creating a simple but charming coiffure. She touched a bit of jasmine-scented toilet water behind each ear and donned a pair of slippers over pale-hued stockings. Then she sat down to await Beau Birmingham’s return to his cabin or perhaps an order instructing her to prepare herself for the trip to the Mirage.
Cerynise sighed. She wasn’t necessarily thrilled with the idea of sailing home aboard Captain Sullivan’s ship, but Beau had proven adamant about his inability to take her with him. She wouldn’t plead with the man. Considering his recent efforts to keep his distance, to do so would only bring her shame.
A knock on the cabin door came sooner than she had anticipated. Nervously smoothing her hair and gown, she crossed the room, hoping that Beau had come at last, but a man, perhaps a score and five, with fair hair and a narrow, fine-boned face stood before the threshold. When his gray eyes fell on her, he stared at her as if all reason had fled. Then, with a start, he recalled his manners and snatched off the cap that he wore, blushing as he did so. “Your pardon, miss, but the captain asked me to escort you up on deck.”
Cerynise had no doubt that the man was a member of the crew, but she was at a loss for a name, for she had never seen him before. “And you are?”
The color in the man’s cheeks deepened to a ruddy hue as he realized his blunder. “Your pardon again, miss. I’m the mate, Stephen Oaks.”
“And did the captain say why he wanted me to come up on deck?” she inquired. “Will he be taking me to the Mirage now?”
The mate was a bit stymied by her question. “He didn’t say, miss, only that you’re to come on deck.”
A frown flitted across Cerynise’s features. Having sent his lackey to fetch her, Beau Birmingham was undoubtedly hoping to get rid of her posthaste and without any effort on his part. No preamble, no discussion. She would be off of his ship before she could blink. Truly, if the man had ever learned any manners, he certainly wasn’t trotting them out on her behalf.
“The captain is rather rushed right now, miss, what with the loading and all,” Oaks explained. “But he thought of you just the same and wondered if you might be liking a bit of fresh air and sunshine.”
Cerynise didn’t appreciate being kept in the dark about her departure and tried once again. “Do you happen to know when the captain is planning on taking me to the Mirage? Or has he directed someone else to escort me?”
Stephen Oaks was no less perplexed. “As far as I know, miss, the captain didn’t mention anything about you leaving. I’m sure he would have said something to me if he had planned on being away again for any length of time…seeing as how we’re trying to finish up with the loading so we can set sail in the next day or two. Why don’t you come on deck and talk to him yourself, miss? He can tell you better than I what he has in mind.”
Cerynise realized she was being beguiled into obeying, but she had no wish to decline the summons. Having been secluded in the cabin for more hours than she cared to count, she was more than willing to venture out. She paused to wrap a handsome cashmere shawl of peach and olive-green paisley about her shoulders and then followed as the mate
led the way along the corridor and up the companionway.
A soft breeze wafted across the deck of the ship, blending the salty tang of the sea with the earthy scents of the city and the cobblestone quay against which the ship nestled. No clouds hindered the morning light, and the sun’s rays were bright and clean, bouncing off the water in radiating shards as if they were being poured through a crystal. Small prismatic spots of light dappled the deck, creating a shimmering display that nigh bedazzled Cerynise. For a moment she stood transfixed, soaking in the scene with an artist’s delight, wishing she could unpack her paints and put every minute detail on canvas before this mystical ambience was forever lost.
“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” she breathed in awe.
The mate cocked a brow wonderingly as he glanced around, for he had no idea what the lady was talking about. He drew his own conclusions. “Aye, miss, the Audacious is a real beauty, that she is.”
Cerynise smiled at his limited vision and made an effort to reach out with her own. The ship was certainly one a sailor could be proud of. Even to a novice it was readily apparent that it would remain so for some time, for it was being maintained in good order.
At present, men swarmed the deck and the adjacent pier as they labored to transfer the cargo onto the ship. A large wooden crate was hoisted aloft and, before long, laboriously lowered through the open hatch to the hold below. Barely had it settled into place and the ropes been wrenched free before another was being securely lashed and sent on its way from the quay.
“Is that the crated furniture Billy spoke of?” Cerynise asked the mate, who was also observing the proceedings.
“Aye, miss,” Mr. Oaks replied. “Breakfronts, armoires, beds and the like are what we’ll be hauling back to Charleston this time. I’m sure we could finance a whole voyage with just the furniture we bring back. The captain likes to glean the very best from every port we enter.”
“Billy said your docking is well-anticipated,” she murmured distractedly as she shaded her eyes and scanned the deck for Beau, much as she had done as a girl.