Читать книгу A Buccaneer At Heart - Stephanie Laurens, Stephanie Laurens - Страница 9

CHAPTER 2

“Good morning.” Miss Aileen Hopkins fixed a polite but determined gaze on the face of the bored-looking clerk who had come forward to attend her across the wooden counter separating the public from the inner workings of the Office of the Naval Attaché. Located off Government Wharf in the harbor of Freetown, the office was the principal on-land contact for the men aboard the ships of the West Africa Squadron. The squadron sailed the seas west of Freetown, tasked with enforcing the British government’s ban on slavery.

“Yes, miss?” Despite the question, not a single spark of interest lit the man’s eyes, much less his expression, which remained impersonal and just a bit dour.

Aileen was too experienced in dealing with bureaucratic flunkies to allow his attitude to deter her. “I would like to inquire as to my brother Lieutenant William Hopkins.” She set her black traveling reticule on the counter, folded her hands over the gathered top, and did her best to project the image of someone who was not about to be fobbed off.

The clerk stared at her, a frown slowly overtaking his face. “Hopkins?” He glanced at the other two clerks, both of whom had remained seated at desks facing the wall and were making a grand show of deafness, although in the small office, they had to have heard her query. The clerk at the counter wasn’t deterred, either. “Here—Joe!” When one of the seated clerks reluctantly raised his head and glanced their way, the clerk assisting her prompted, “Hopkins. Isn’t he the young one that went off God knows where?”

The seated clerk shot Aileen a quick glance, then nodded. “Aye. It’d be about three months ago now.”

“I am aware that my brother has disappeared.” She failed to keep her accents from growing more clipped as her tone grew more severely interrogatory. “What I wish to know is why he was ashore, rather than aboard H.M.S. Winchester.”

“As to that, miss”—the first clerk’s tone grew decidedly prim—“we’re not at liberty to say.”

She paused, parsing the comment, then countered, “Am I to take it from that that you do, in fact, know of some reason William—Lieutenant Hopkins—was ashore? Ashore when he was supposed to be at sea?”

The clerk straightened, stiffened. “I’m afraid, miss, that this office is not permitted to divulge details of the whereabouts of officers of the service.”

She let her incredulity show. “Even when they’ve disappeared?”

Without looking around, one of the clerks seated at the desks declared, “All inquiries into operational matters should be addressed to the Admiralty.”

Her eyes narrowing, she stared at the back of the head of the clerk who had spoken. When he refused to look around, she stated in stringently uninflected tones, “The last time I visited, the Admiralty was in London.”

“Indeed, miss.” When she transferred her gaze to him, the clerk at the counter met her eyes with a wooden expression. “You’ll need to ask there.”

She refused to be defeated. “I would like to speak with your superior.”

The man answered without a blink. “Sorry, miss. He’s not here.”

“When will he return?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say, miss.”

“Not at liberty to divulge his movements, either?”

“No, miss. We just don’t know.” After a second of regarding her—possibly noting her increasing choler—the clerk suggested, “He’s around the settlement somewhere, miss. If you keep your eyes open, perhaps you might run into him.”

For several seconds, her tongue burned with the words with which she would like to flay him—him and his friends, and the naval attaché, too. Ask at the Admiralty? It was half a world away!

Thanking them for their help, even if sarcastically, occurred only to be dismissed. She couldn’t force the words past her lips.

Feeling anger—the worst sort, laced with real fear—geysering inside her, she cast the clerk still facing her a stony glare, then she picked up her reticule, spun on her heel, and marched out of the office.

Her half boots rang on the thick, weathered planks of the wharf. Her intemperate strides carried her off the wharf and up the steps to the dusty street. Skirts swishing, she paced rapidly on, climbing the rise to the bustle of Water Street.

Just before she reached it, she halted and forced herself to lift her head and draw in a decent breath.

The heat closed around her, muffling in its cloying sultriness.

The beginnings of a headache pulsed in her temples.

Now what?

She’d come all the way from London determined to learn where Will had gone. Clearly, she’d get no help from the navy itself...but there’d been something about the way the clerk had reacted when she’d suggested that there was a specific reason Will had been ashore.

Her older brothers were in the navy, too. And both, she knew, had served ashore at various times—dispatched by their superiors on what amounted to secret missions.

Not that she or their parents—or even their other siblings in the navy—had known that at the time.

Had Will been dispatched on some secret mission, too? Was that the reason he’d been ashore?

“Ashore long enough to have been captured and taken by the enemy?” Aileen frowned. After a moment, she gathered her skirts and resumed her trek up to and around the corner into Water Street, the settlement’s main thoroughfare. She needed to make several purchases in the shops lining the street before hiring a carriage to take her back up Tower Hill to her lodgings.

While she shopped, the obvious questions revolved in her brain.

Who on earth was the enemy here?

And how could she find out?

* * *

“Good morning, Miss Hopkins—you’ve been out early!”

Aileen turned from closing the front door of Mrs. Hoyt’s Boarding House for Genteel Ladies to face its owner.

Mrs. Hoyt was a round, genial widow and a redoubtable gossip who lived vicariously through the lives of her boarders. Her arms wrapped around a pile of freshly laundered sheets, Mrs. Hoyt beamed at Aileen; with frizzy red hair and a round face, she filled the doorway to her rooms to the left of the front hall, opposite the communal parlor.

Having already taken Mrs. Hoyt’s measure, Aileen held up a small bundle of brown-paper-wrapped packages. “I needed to buy some stationery. I must write home.”

Mrs. Hoyt nodded approvingly. “Indeed, dear. If you want a lad to run your letters to the post office, you just let me know.”

“Thank you.” With a noncommittal dip of her head, Aileen walked on and up the stairs.

Her room was on the first floor. A pleasant corner chamber, it faced the street. Lace curtains screened the window, lending an aura of privacy. Before the window sat a plain ladies’ desk with a stool pushed beneath it. Aileen laid her packages and reticule on the desk, then stripped off her gloves before unbuttoning her lightweight jacket and shrugging it off. Even with the window open, there was little by way of a breeze to stir the air.

She pulled out the stool and sat at the desk. She opened her packages, set out the paper and ink, and fixed a new nib to the pen, then without allowing herself any further opportunity to procrastinate, she got down to the business of informing her parents where she was and explaining why she was there.

She’d been in London staying with an old friend, with no care beyond enjoying the delights of the Season before returning to her parents’ house in Bedfordshire, when she’d received a letter from her parents. They’d enclosed an official notification they’d received from Admiralty House, stating that their son Lieutenant William Hopkins had gone missing from Freetown, and that he was presumed to have gone absent without leave, possibly venturing into the jungle to seek his fortune.

Her parents had, unsurprisingly, been deeply distressed by that news. For her part, Aileen had considered it ludicrous. To suggest that any Hopkins would go absent without leave was ridiculous! For four generations, all the men in her family had been navy through and through. They were officers and gentlemen, and they viewed the responsibility of their rank as a sacred calling.

As the only girl in a family of four children, Aileen knew exactly how her three brothers viewed their service. To suggest that Will had thrown over his position to hie off on some giddy venture was pure nonsense.

But with both her older brothers at sea with their respective fleets—one in the South Atlantic, the other in the Mediterranean—as Aileen had been in London, her parents had asked if she could make inquiries with a view to discovering what was going on.

She’d duly presented herself at Admiralty House. Despite the family’s long connection with the navy, she’d got even less satisfaction there than she had at the naval office here.

Goaded and angry, and by then seriously worried about Will—he was younger than she, and she’d always felt protective of him and still did—she’d gone straight to the offices of the shipping companies and booked the first available passage to Freetown; as she’d brought ample funds with her to London, cost had not been a concern.

She’d arrived two days ago. She’d had plenty of time on the voyage to plan. Although her station and family connections meant that there was almost certain to be some family from whom she could claim support and a roof over her head while she searched for Will, she’d decided on a more circumspect approach. Hence, Mrs. Hoyt’s Boarding House, which was located on Tower Hill, the province of local British society, but below the rectory rather than above it. The houses of those moving in what passed for local society were located on the terraces higher up the hill.

Aileen had no time for social visits. Her sole purpose in being in the settlement was to find out what had happened to Will—and, if at all possible, rescue him.

At twenty-seven years of age and as naturally inclined to command as her brothers, she’d seen no reason not to come to Freetown and see what she could do. She was as capable as her brothers, and the other two were not in any position to help Will at that time.

There was also the underlying niggle of knowing that if she hadn’t been the only one of their brood available and, moreover, already in London, her parents would never have turned to her for help.

She was the girl in the family. No one expected her to contribute to anything in any way. She was supposed to be decorative rather than effective, and the only expectation anyone seemed able to credit her with was to make a comfortable marriage and keep house for some husband—most likely another naval officer.

In her heart, she knew that such a future was unlikely to ever come to pass. Aside from all else, her temperament and the odd itch beneath her skin—the same impulsive longing for adventure that had compelled her to set sail for Freetown—made her unsuitable for the position of meek and mild wife.

Even as she sent her pen scratching across the paper, she felt her lips quirk. Meek and mild was not an epithet anyone had ever applied to her.

After outlining her decision to come to Freetown and her intention to discover where Will had gone, she devoted several paragraphs to describing the settlement and where she was staying with a view to easing her parents’ minds, then briefly outlined what she’d ascertained from her first inquiries.

Yesterday—her first full day in the settlement—hoping to gain some casual insights before she called at the naval office, she’d sought out the usual taverns around the docks where naval officers were wont to congregate. There were always certain establishments that attracted their custom, and while in general she would never have ventured into a tavern alone, in those places that catered to naval officers, her family’s connection to the service—and the Hopkins name was well known throughout the navy—gave her a degree of protection.

She’d relied on that, gone in, and as she had hoped, she’d found several old sailors who knew her brother and had shared drinks and tall tales with him. She’d reasoned that if Will had been sent ashore on some mission that involved the settlement, then these were the men from whom he would have first sought information.

If Will had asked questions, she wanted to know what about.

And she’d been right. According to the old sea dogs, shortly before he’d disappeared, Will had asked questions that circled two subjects. First, an army officer called Dixon, who was stationed at Fort Thornton, which squatted at the top of Tower Hill. That was puzzling enough, but Will’s second area of interest had been some local priest who held services in the settlement. Apparently, Will had attended several services, possibly as many as three.

Of all her brothers, she knew Will the best, understood him with the greatest clarity. That he’d voluntarily attended a church service meant he’d gone for some reason that had nothing to do with religion.

She lifted her pen and read over all she’d written. After a moment’s deliberation, she decided against sharing her intention to rescue Will; there was no need to add to her parents’ anxieties. Instead, she concluded with a less stressful repetition of her intention to discover where Will had gone. She ended with a promise to be in touch in due course.

While she sanded the sheet, then sealed her missive, she debated her options.

She set aside the letter, then glanced at the small clock on the mantelpiece. Lips firming, she pushed back from the desk and walked to the low chest that served as a dressing table. In the mirror above it, she considered her reflection, then grimaced and started unpinning her hair.

As she did, she considered the image the clerks at the naval office had seen. A gently bred English rose with pale skin and roses in her cheeks. Her face was close to oval, her nose unremarkable, her forehead wide. Her bright hazel eyes were her best feature, large and fringed with long brown lashes and well set under finely arched brows; other ladies might have used them more, but she rarely thought of it. Her lips were well enough—pink and softly plump—but they were usually set in a firm if not uncompromising line above her distinctly determined chin.

Her hair was a pleasing but unusual and distinctive shade of copper brown. It normally fell in glossy waves, but at the moment, her tresses were frizzing almost as badly as Mrs. Hoyt’s in the unrelenting humidity.

With her pins removed, she wielded her hairbrush with grim determination. Eventually, she managed to rewind and refasten her hair in a passable chignon.

She put down the brush, twisted side to side examining her handiwork, then she nodded to herself in the mirror. “Good enough.”

Good enough to pay a call at the rectory.

She resettled her skirts of pale bone-colored cotton, then put the matching jacket on again, but in a concession to the heat, left it open over her neat white blouse. After sliding the cords of her reticule over her wrist, she picked up the letter and headed for the door.

From Mrs. Hoyt, she’d learned that the Anglican minister’s wife was a Mrs. Hardwicke, and that Mrs. Hardwicke could be found most mornings at the rectory. Aileen felt sure that the minister’s wife would know about the other priest’s services.

Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. “There’s also the army officer, Dixon.” As far as she knew, Will had no friends in the army.

For a second, she debated—rectory or fort? Then she firmed her lips and opened the door.

She would post her letter and then call at the rectory.

One question at a time. Step by step, she would hunt Will down.

And then she would get him back.

* * *

Two days later, Aileen filed out of the rustic church in which the local priest, one Obo Undoto, conducted his services. Hemmed in between two other ladies, she was carried forth on the tide of the emerging congregation, which then spread across the dusty area before the church.

As matters had transpired, she hadn’t had to ask Mrs. Hardwicke for information; when she’d called at the rectory, she’d found a small gathering of ladies taking tea. At Mrs. Hardwicke’s invitation, she’d joined the group. After the introductions had been dealt with, the conversation had turned to events occurring in the settlement—and a Mrs. Hitchcock had mentioned that Undoto’s next service would be held at noon two days hence. Later, Aileen had left the rectory with Mrs. Hitchcock and had asked for directions to the church, which Mrs. Hitchcock had readily given, along with a recommendation that she would find the service diverting.

When Aileen had walked into the rectangular church just before noon, she’d had to hunt to find a seat; she’d been astonished by how full the church had been. People of all races and of a wide range of social classes had crammed the pews—Europeans of all nationalities primarily to the left, with local natives and others of the African nations mostly to the right.

Her surprise had lasted until she’d heard enough to appreciate the tenor of Undoto’s offering. In a voice full of thunder and brimstone, with a showman’s zeal, he delivered something more akin to a stage performance than a conventional religious experience. Given the dearth of entertainment she had by then noted in the settlement, the crowd packing the church wasn’t such a wonder. Anything to fill the boredom that many, of necessity, had to bear.

None of which explained why Will had attended. Most likely more than once. She knew beyond question that Undoto’s performance wouldn’t have appealed to her younger brother as a way to pass his time.

She’d spent the majority of the service surveying the congregation and everything else she could see, searching for some sign of what might have drawn Will to the place, but she’d seen nothing and gained no clue to that mystery.

As she slowly wended her way through the crowd now thronging the forecourt, she noticed an old man—a grizzled old tar if she’d ever seen one—ponderously stumping away from the church. He leaned heavily on his cane; he had lost one leg and had an old-fashioned wooden peg leg.

Instantly, Aileen knew who among all the congregation Will would most likely have approached. Her younger brother had always been fascinated with old tales of the sea.

She changed tack and went after the old man. As she drew level, she glanced at his face and discovered he was one-eyed, too. “Excuse me,” she said. “I wonder if I might speak with you.”

The old sailor glanced at her in surprise. But the instant he took in her face and her attire, he halted, politely raised his cap, and, planting his cane, half bowed. “Of course, miss.” His eyes crinkled at the outer edges as he set his cap back on his head. “Old Sampson at your service. Always happy to have a chat, although what a lady like you might want with an old sea dog like me, I can’t imagine.”

She smiled. “It’s quite simple, really. My brother was here”—with a wave, she indicated the church—“some months ago, and I’m quite sure he would have spoken with you. He’s mad for tales of seafaring, and you look like you could tell quite a few.”

The old sailor folded both hands over the head of his cane. “Aye.” He nodded. “You have that right. I’ve sailed all of the seven seas in my day. Ain’t nothing I like better than to remember those days. Rip roaring, they were. But what’s your brother’s name?” Before she could answer, he added, “I pride myself on learning the name to go with every face I see, at least among the Europeans.”

Excellent. Aileen’s smile brightened. “His name is William Hopkins. He’s a lieutenant currently serving with the squadron here.”

“Will Hopkins? Sure and I remember him. Interesting lad—keen to hear my stories.”

She beamed. “I was sure he would have asked.”

“So how can I help you?” Sampson arched his bushy brows. “Young Will hasn’t been by for some time, and truth to tell, I never did understand why he came. Lads like him can usually find enough to interest them in the settlement without resorting to Undoto’s histrionics.”

“I can imagine.” With three brothers, she certainly could. “But Will has disappeared, it seems, and I’m here to see if I can find any trace of where he might have gone, or why.” She saw a frown form in Sampson’s eyes. She tipped her head, regarding him more closely. “I gathered that Will came to more than one service.”

“Aye.” Sampson nodded, but his expression had grown absentminded, as if the news that Will had disappeared had triggered thoughts of something else. “He came three times.”

“Do you recall if he met with anyone after the service—perhaps some young lady? Or was he watching someone?”

Sampson shook his head and answered in a distracted fashion, “Not that I saw. And I sit on a stool in the back corner, so I see most things.”

With the obvious excuse discounted, Aileen concluded that Will’s purpose in attending the services—three of them—had to have been connected with his mission. Whatever that mission had been.

But how?

She raised her gaze to Sampson’s face, only to discover he’d refocused on her and was now regarding her with some concern. “What is it?” she asked.

He frowned. “It’s possible I shouldn’t tell you this, but there were others asking questions—a captain and his crew, not navy, but I got the impression they was...authorized, if you get my drift. A couple of weeks ago, they were here asking about people—officers—who’d apparently attended Undoto’s services and then...vanished. They didn’t mention your brother by name, but if I recall aright, they said there were two navy lieutenants among the missing.”

Her heart leapt. “This captain and his crew—are they still here?”

The worried look in Sampson’s eyes increased. “No. I heard they’d sailed off in something of a rush. Some say to Cape Town, but others as saw them go say they left under oars at night, and the tack they took out of the estuary lay to the north.”

For a second, Sampson searched her eyes, then he drew himself up. “If you’ll pardon the liberty, miss, this Captain Frobisher was a sharp sort, and he and his crew knew what they were doing. They came asking questions about people who’d gone missing, and they must have found something—something of the sort to send them packing, possibly back to London.”

Sampson glanced swiftly around, then shifted closer and lowered his voice. “It’s true there’s something havey-cavey going on in the settlement. Seems there’s more missing than a handful of officers. But whatever’s going on, it’s dangerous enough to have a captain of the likes of Frobisher playing cautious. You need to take that on board. Asking questions about those who’ve gone missing might end with you going missing, too.” He shifted back and looked her in the face. “Trust me, miss, you need to back away and leave this to those trained to handle such things.”

The possibility that, contrary to all appearances, someone—most likely someone in authority in London—was pursuing those missing, Will included, came as a huge relief.

However, they—whoever they were—weren’t here, and she was.

And Will was still missing.

She’d held Sampson’s gaze while those thoughts flitted through her mind; his worry remained plain to see. She drew breath, hesitated, then inclined her head. “Thank you for the warning, Mr. Sampson. Rest assured, I’ll pay it due heed.”

No need to tell him that learning that Will had, indeed, been on some mission and had subsequently disappeared, and that others had disappeared as well, had only made her more determined than ever to find her missing brother and, if possible, rescue him, too.

* * *

The obvious first step was to learn more about the mission Will had been pursuing.

Other than attending Undoto’s church, the only oddity she’d heard of in Will’s behavior before he’d disappeared had been his interest in Dixon, the army officer stationed at the fort.

Given the time-honored tensions between army and navy, Will’s interest in Dixon had to have been work related—ergo, mission related. Presumably, he’d gone to speak with Dixon, which made Dixon an obvious person for her to speak with, too.

Her hopes of gaining some insight into the nature of Will’s mission were riding high as she toiled up the final stretch of road that led to the open gates of the fort, with its guardhouse built against the palisade to one side of the entrance.

On gaining the cleared area before the gates, she paused and looked back. Perched on the crown of the hill above the harbor, the fort commanded an arresting view over the settlement and the ships clustered before the docks to the wide blue sweep of the estuary beyond. She took a full minute to savor the sight.

Three days had passed since she’d spoken to Sampson outside Undoto’s church. She’d spent those days alternating between vacillation and action. On the vacillating side, she’d found herself entertaining nagging doubts along the lines that perhaps Sampson was right, and she and her family would be better served by her retreating and then waiting to hear through official channels...

Every time she’d got to the “waiting to hear through official channels” part, her thoughts had come to an abrupt halt, and she hadn’t been able to follow that line any further.

She would never convince herself that waiting for someone else—especially someone with official authorization—to rescue Will was a viable alternative.

Her actions had been more to the point; she’d gone back to the taverns she’d previously visited and tried to learn more about Dixon. She’d reasoned that the more she could learn about him before she faced him, the better placed she would be.

Unfortunately, that tack had proved futile. For the same reasons she hadn’t expected Will to be acquainted with an army officer, none of those he had drunk with knew much of Dixon, either.

Just that he was stationed at Fort Thornton.

And now she was there.

She turned away from the vista and walked the last yards to the guardhouse and the pair of middle-aged guards taking the sun at their ease beside it.

They straightened as she neared. Both respectfully touched a hand to their hats.

“Miss,” said the younger with a nod.

“Ma’am,” said the older, straightening even more.

Aileen halted before them and smiled. “Good morning. I would like to speak with an officer by the name of Dixon. I understand he’s quartered here.”

Both guards looked at her, then to her surprise, the pair exchanged a sidelong glance.

The older refocused on her. “I’m afraid, ma’am, that that won’t be possible.”

She blinked.

Before she could formulate an appropriate response, the younger guard blurted, “He’s not here, you see. Gone off to seek his fortune in the jungle, they say.”

The older guard cut his junior a chiding look. “Don’t believe—much less repeat—everything you hear.” Looking back at Aileen, he said, “Captain Dixon was here—he should still be here—but he went missing some months back, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of him, nor heard anything about him since.”

“He’s vanished?” She fought to rein in her shock. Battled to keep her expression uninformative.

Nevertheless, the older guard frowned in concern. “Why did you wish to speak with him, ma’am?”

She met his shrewd eyes. She couldn’t think of any reason to lie. “I believe my brother, a lieutenant in the navy, came to speak with Captain Dixon. This would have been some months ago—possibly three months or more.”

“I remember that!” The younger guard beamed at her. “Thought it odd that one of the navy bas—ah, officers wanted to speak with one of ours.”

“So he—my brother—and Dixon met?”

The younger guard shook his head emphatically. “Couldn’t. Dixon was already gone. Would have been a good five weeks before. I remember we told your brother that. Had quite a jaw about it, now I think back. About what Dixon vanishing like that might mean.”

The older guard was regarding her closely. “Why don’t you ask your brother about Dixon—about what he was after him for—when the squadron sails in? Should be in a week or so, I gather.”

Aileen met his eyes, then grimaced. “Would that I could. Sadly, my brother has vanished, too.”

“Cor!” The younger guard’s eyes rounded. “Mercy me! Whatever’s going on?”

The older guard narrowed his eyes on his junior. “Told you. Don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not what it looks like.”

* * *

A week later, late in the afternoon, Aileen threw a shawl about her shoulders and left the confines of the boardinghouse to walk in the public gardens behind the rectory. She’d found the little oasis of civilized peace just a few yards up the road and down a short lane six days ago, and it had quickly become her favorite place for thinking.

As the sun began its final descent toward the western horizon, a cooling breeze often lifted off the harbor and estuary beyond, sweeping up the hill with gentle grace, refreshing and renewing the air after the stifling, muggy heat of the day.

Pacing along the lightly graveled path, Aileen made for her favorite bench. Situated beneath the spreading branches of a tall, shady tree, the bench was unoccupied, as it usually was. She’d seen only a handful of people using the gardens, and most of those were nursemaids or governesses with their charges; at this time of day, they were busy elsewhere, doing other things.

Amid the leaves of the old tree, long brown seedpods hung, dry now, and in the stirring of the breeze, they added their soft rustle to the evening’s chorus. She found the already familiar susurration welcoming. She sat, letting the fine shawl fall to her elbows so she could better enjoy the coolness on her skin.

She scanned the short stretch of lawn below and saw only a single couple who were already heading home. She watched them go, then she raised her gaze to the wider vista of the harbor and its ships, and the estuary beyond. From there, she could even see the opposite shore, so distant it was nothing more than a thick band of jungle green edging the water.

This was a very foreign land.

She told herself that. Told herself it was no real surprise that finding any trace of Will months after he’d disappeared would take time. More, that any trail wouldn’t easily be uncovered.

In search of that trail, she’d returned to sit through two more of Undoto’s performances. She’d spent both observing closely, searching for some hint of what had sent Will there—desperately hoping for some inkling of what he had gone there to find. Other than feeling faintly disturbed by the tenor of the services, she’d learned nothing more.

She’d spoken with Sampson again, but perhaps unsurprisingly given his earlier concern, he’d been discouraging.

His attitude had only added to her welling despondency.

She’d expected to get somewhere by now.

Glumness dragged at her. Instead of giving in to it, she focused on the scene before her. A ship—sleekly hulled and sporting three towering masts—was sliding gracefully up the estuary. Even from this distance, she could make out the tiny figures of sailors scrambling high on the spars, furling a quite staggering array of sails.

The sight of the ship held her transfixed. As she watched, it smoothly slid past the mouth of the harbor and continued up the estuary, still well out from shore.

She wondered why the ship wasn’t turning in. As far as she knew, there was no other settlement—certainly not a settlement of the size to which such a ship might sail—farther along the estuary’s shores.

She continued to trace the stately passage of the ship. Watching it was curiously soothing.

Courtesy of her brothers’ incessant obsession, she was more than passingly acquainted with the latest designs in sailing vessels. In the sleek lines of the ship nosing down the estuary, she thought she detected the telltale shape of the new ships out of the Aberdeen shipyards. Clippers, as people were starting to call them, because under full sail—which was how they were designed to be sailed—the hull rose and sped across the water, clipping the waves.

She imagined how fast the ship before her might go if all the sails she could see were set before a good wind.

It would fly.

Will would have loved it.

“Will will love it one day.” She frowned at herself, at the unintentional surfacing of her deepest fears.

The best way to eradicate fear was to face it. She didn’t want to, yet she forced her mind to consider the unthinkable.

She still couldn’t believe it. Will isn’t dead.

He’d gone missing, but he was somewhere, and still alive.

He was findable. In turn, that meant he could be rescued.

She would do it.

She would not give up—she would never give up—on Will.

Finally, the ship she’d been watching turned its prow toward shore. It came in a short way, then anchored just inside a cove two bays to the east of the harbor.

She wondered why the captain had chosen to avoid the harbor proper. “Perhaps they’re only anchoring for the night, or to take on water.”

Regardless, she’d seen enough; she had more pressing matters to address.

Eschewing the sight before her, she turned her thoughts inward. Doggedly, she retrod—yet again—all she’d learned. Now that she’d worked out why Will had gone to see Dixon—because Dixon had already disappeared and Will had wanted to learn more—that left Will’s attendance at Undoto’s services as the one peculiarity she had yet to explain.

She decided that was a clear enough sign. Either something happened at the services that Will had seen but that she had yet to notice, or...

She couldn’t think of anything that or might be.

Frowning, she refocused on her surroundings and realized the light was fading. In the tropics, night descended like a curtain falling on a stage—with brutal finality and quite surprising abruptness.

She rose. The temperature had started dropping with the setting of the sun. She flicked her shawl about her shoulders and set off at a brisk walk for the lane, the road, and Mrs. Hoyt’s Boarding House.

As she entered the lane, her senses came alert. Pure habit; she didn’t expect to meet with any difficulty in that area.

Nevertheless, as she emerged onto the road by the rectory, she recognized that, with the falling of night, the atmosphere in the settlement changed.

It wasn’t only the view, the surroundings, that grew darker.

She set off along the rough pavement toward the boardinghouse. Lights were already burning on the front porch, and a welcoming glow shone through the parlor curtains.

Then she nearly tripped as her mind connected her recent thoughts. She halted and stared ahead as she realized...

“I might have been looking in the right place, but at the wrong time.” She breathed the words as the possibilities firmed in her mind.

In this place—as in any other rough and dangerous place in which predators lurked—time of day made a very real difference to what anyone watching might see.

Her heart lifted. She stepped out, her stride firmer, more decided—even more determined.

She’d been watching Undoto during the day. She needed to watch him during the evening and night.

True evil walked in darkness, after all.