Читать книгу The Daredevil Snared - Stephanie Laurens, Stephanie Laurens - Страница 12

CHAPTER 4

The next morning, Caleb, Phillipe, and two of Caleb’s men, Ellis and Norton, returned to the rock shelf as soon as it was light. Light enough to see their way, and light enough to observe the activity in the compound.

Caleb settled on the granite shelf. “Let’s see if we can establish their routine.” From the pocket of his lightweight breeches, he drew out a pencil and a small notebook.

Phillipe, not an early riser, grunted. But he sank down beside Caleb, drew up his knees, rested his chin upon them, and focused his heavy-lidded gaze on the compound far below.

Over the course of the next hours, they watched the camp come awake. The guards changed at six o’clock. Shortly after, the captives straggled out of the barrack-like huts in which they’d slept and tended to their ablutions in the lean-tos built against the sides. Some hung laundry on lines strung at the rear of the long huts. Eventually, each crossed to the awning-covered open-air kitchen on the opposite side of the compound to the mine to fetch their breakfast, then carried their plate and mug back to the large fire pit and settled on the logs to eat.

The mercenaries also breakfasted, in their case under another palm-thatched awning erected in front of the guard tower, close by the kitchen. From their position on the rock shelf above and to the rear of the compound, Caleb and his men could get no clear view of the mercenaries as they broke their fast.

Caleb grunted. “I would have liked to get a look at this Dubois and his lieutenants.” They all knew that the mercenaries they’d seen thus far were followers, not leaders.

In contrast, they were fairly certain who among the male captives were the leaders—the officers.

“That’s Hopkins—the one just joining the other three.” Caleb focused on the four men who sat together at the side of the fire pit closest to the mine. “I met his sister in Southampton. They share that same odd-colored hair.”

“I’m fairly certain,” Phillipe said, his eyes narrowed on the group, “that the lean, brown-haired one will prove to be Hillsythe. He looks like I imagine one of your Wolverstone’s men would look. Which leaves the other two as Fanshawe and Dixon.”

“That matches their bearings,” Caleb said. “From the way they hold themselves, they must be either army or navy.”

They watched, but gained no further clues as to who was whom among the captives. Caleb made a note of their number. “I make it twenty-three men all told, six women, and twenty-four children.”

Phillipe stirred. “Most of the children are young—less than ten or so. There are only five who are older—four boys and that fair-haired girl.”

“I think,” Caleb said, studying the girl, “that they must be the ones Robert and Aileen had to allow to be taken.”

Phillipe nodded grimly. “I read that in Robert’s journal.”

After the meal, the captives dispersed. The men headed for the mine in groups, followed by most of the children. A few of the children, all girls, went to an awning-shaded work area closer to the rear of the compound—closer to the base of the cliff from which the men watched. The girls picked up small hammers and started to take rocks from one pile, tapping each, then sorting them into two piles, one much larger than the other.

After a moment of studying them, Phillipe offered, “I think they’re sorting the raw ore into the chunks that might have diamonds and those that most likely don’t.”

Caleb grunted.

On quitting the fire pit, the women carried the tin plates and bowls back to the kitchen, then they retreated to a hut that sat directly behind the long central barracks that housed the mercenaries. An armed guard patrolled the area before the hut’s door, but as with all the guards, including the pair who had climbed to the tower and the fresh pair of guards who had slouched into position on the recently opened gates, he appeared utterly confident and clearly expected no threat.

Sitting on Caleb’s other side, Norton humphed. “It’s as if the guards think they’re just there for show.”

Miss Fortescue was the last of the women to enter the hut—the one Diccon had dubbed the cleaning shed. There was something in the way Katherine Fortescue held her head that effectively conveyed her complete disregard for the mercenaries about her. It wasn’t as overt as contempt but was a subtle defiance nonetheless.

Regardless of his absorption with jotting down everything useful he could about the camp, Caleb had spent long minutes drinking in every aspect of the delectable Miss Fortescue. For despite the privations of her captivity, she was enchanting, with her brown hair shining and with features that, as far as Caleb could make out, were striking and fine, set in a heart-shaped face. As for her figure, not even the drab, all-but-shapeless gowns that all the women had, apparently, been given to wear could hide her nicely rounded curves.

Regardless of the situation, his interest in Miss Fortescue was a real and vital thing—definitely there and, quite surprising to him, distinctly stronger and more compulsive than such attractions customarily were. Why a woman he’d never even met should so effortlessly capture his attention—fix his senses and hold his focus—he couldn’t explain.

“I haven’t been able to count all the mercenaries yet,” Phillipe said, “but Diccon’s number of twenty-four in camp at the moment, plus Dubois, seems about right.”

Reluctantly eschewing his thoughts of Katherine Fortescue, Caleb jotted the number in his notebook, then looked down at the compound once more.

Four of the male captives—none of them the officers, all of whom had vanished into the mine—had hung back in a group to one side of the mine entrance. As Caleb watched, two mercenaries ambled out from the central barracks and, each holstering a pistol, walked to join the group.

Nearing the four captives, one of the mercenaries waved the men to a cart parked nearby. Two large water barrels and four large cans for filling them sat on the cart. The four men fell in; they lifted the cart’s axle and started the cart rolling across the compound toward the gate.

Caleb watched the men angle the cart through the gate, then turn in the direction of the lake. “Hmm.”

The animal track they used to reach the rock shelf, if followed in the opposite direction, ultimately led down to the lake. On the previous day, they’d joined and later left the track halfway up the hillside and hadn’t noticed the proximity of the lake, but that morning, a glimmer of light off the water had flashed through the trees and drawn their collective eye. They’d made a brief detour; they hadn’t wanted to be there when the men with their guards came to fill the compound’s barrels. They’d lingered only long enough to fix the scene in their minds. The lake was fed by a stream rushing down the hillside; it was small, but from its intense color, it was reasonably deep. A short, narrow wharf jutted out along one bank, no doubt built to facilitate drawing water for the camp; on all the other banks, dense vegetation crowded the shoreline.

Caleb, Phillipe, Norton, and Ellis continued to watch the compound, but captives and mercenaries alike seemed to have settled to their morning’s duties. The only people coming and going were the children who occasionally emerged from the mine, lugging woven baskets filled with loose rocks that they added to the pile the girls were sorting, then returned to the mine.

Letting his thoughts about the lake slide to the back of his mind, Caleb spent some time drawing a detailed map of the compound, marking in all the buildings and structures and noting the position and direction of the tracks, including the animal track leading to the rock shelf, plus the location of their camp in the jungle clearing and the position of the lake.

After a moment, working from memory, he added a crude sketch of the lake itself. He studied the sketch for several minutes, then glanced at Phillipe. “Those weapons we took from Kale and his men.” They’d gathered all the weapons before burying Kale and his crew, and had searched and removed more from the buildings in the slavers’ camp, then they’d bundled the weapons up and brought them along in case of future need. “There are far more than we could ever use ourselves. What about creating a cache nearby—somewhere those in the compound could get to when the time to fight arrives?”

Phillipe lightly shrugged. “Why not? Better than just discarding them when we leave—no sense wasting good weapons.” Briefly, he studied Caleb’s eyes, then faintly smiled. “Where were you thinking of burying this cache?”

Caleb grinned. “The lake. There was a mound just beyond the end of the wharf.” He pointed on his sketch; Phillipe, Norton, and Ellis leaned closer to look. “If we buried the cache there, it would be easy for those in the compound to get to. And they only send two lackadaisical guards with four men—that’s not bad odds.”

Phillipe nodded. “That’s also an easy place to describe to those in the compound.”

“And as we’re only talking of a month,” Caleb said, “two at the most, before a rescue force arrives, then even with light wrappings, the powder should still be useable.”

Norton pointed down into the compound. “There are the men bringing back the water barrels.” They watched the men haul the now-laden cart through the gates.

“The guards have returned, too,” Phillipe noted, “so from what Diccon told us, the lake should be safe for us to visit from now through the rest of the day.”

“Perfect.” Caleb glanced at Ellis. “Go back to camp and tell Quilley to take three men, wrap up the excess weapons and ammunition, and go to the lake and bury the lot behind the mound at the end of the wharf. Go with him and make sure he chooses the right spot.”

“Tell Ducasse to take two of my men and help,” Phillipe said. “More hands and it’ll be done that much faster.”

Caleb endorsed the order with a nod.

Ellis snapped off a salute and scrambled off the ledge, heading for the track down the hillside.

Caleb, Phillipe, and Norton settled to watching the compound again.

After some time, Phillipe said, “I take it we’re watching for Diccon to leave.”

Caleb nodded. “We came upon him about noon, and he’d already half filled his basket, so I would expect him to leave fairly soon.”

“I saw him go into the kitchen,” Norton said. “He helped the women take the plates and bowls back, but he didn’t come out again.”

“Ah, but there he is now.” Phillipe sat up and nodded down at the compound.

Caleb watched as the skinny figure of Diccon, readily identified by his bright mop of hair, skipped out from under the palm-thatched overhang shielding the kitchen. He was swinging two baskets, one from either hand. But instead of heading for the gates, Diccon circled the guard tower. Caleb frowned. “Why two baskets, and where is he going?”

They had their answer in another minute. Diccon went to the cleaning shed. He climbed the steps to the door and knocked. The door opened, and he waited a moment. Then he backed down the steps, and Katherine Fortescue joined him.

Caleb blinked. He watched as Miss Fortescue took one of the baskets, then, side by side, she and Diccon headed for the gates.

The guards saw them coming and didn’t react in any way; they watched the pair walk out of the compound and into the jungle.

Caleb stared at Diccon and his Miss Katherine as, heads high, they blithely marched on. Then they disappeared from view. He frowned. “That seems just a tad too good to be true.”

Phillipe looked faintly grim. “The boy said nothing about anyone else coming out with him.”

It fell to Caleb, as commander of the mission, to weigh every factor that might prove dangerous to their men. That Miss Fortescue might have told Dubois what Diccon had told her...

He didn’t want to believe it, but...he grimaced. “Let’s watch and see if anyone else follows them.”

But no one did. No one seemed to have any interest whatever in the whereabouts of the pair who had, supposedly, gone foraging.

After thirty minutes, Caleb looked at Phillipe.

Phillipe looked back and shrugged. “I would point out that women make excellent traitors, but...who knows?”

Caleb grunted. He stuffed his notebook back into his pocket, then rolled to his feet. “I don’t see Miss Fortescue as a likely traitor, but as matters stand, I can think of only one way to find out.”

* * *

By the time Katherine had put seventeen of the large nuts she’d agreed to gather for Dubois and his men into her basket, her nerves were jumping. From the moment she’d grasped the implications of what Diccon had told her regarding who he’d met in the jungle the previous day, she’d been trapped on a peculiar seesaw of emotions—vacillating dramatically between cynically weary disbelief and the burgeoning of unexpected hope. Up, then down, almost to the rhythm of her breathing.

Despite their resolution to find some way to escape, every one of the captured adults had long ago given up all hope of rescue—of someone from outside arriving to save them. As the days, then weeks, then months had rolled past, they’d lost all faith in anyone from the settlement mounting a mission to save them from the fate they all knew would ultimately befall them.

None harbored any illusions about the end Dubois and his masters had in mind for them.

But Diccon had said that the men—the mysterious captain and his crew—had come direct from London, and if Diccon had understood correctly, they were part of a long-running push to rescue all those taken.

She’d discovered that learning of a possible route to freedom after one had believed all such possibility extinguished could be unsettling. Indeed, distinctly unnerving.

She dropped another nut into her basket. Unable to resist the impulse, she cast a searching glance around, but saw and heard no hint of anyone approaching. Diccon had insisted that they had to come to this part of the jungle—between the lake and the track north—and go about collecting fruit and nuts, and then the men would come and find them.

Yesterday, once Diccon had poured out the sum of his discovery, she’d immediately seen the potential danger and had sworn him to secrecy—only to discover that the mysterious Captain Caleb had been before her. She wasn’t sure whether to be encouraged or concerned by such foresight; had he acted for the same reason she had, or had he had some ulterior motive?

Regardless, she’d immediately wanted to take Diccon to speak with Dixon and Hillsythe, the de facto leaders of the captives, but as Diccon could not go into the mine and there’d been guards hovering by the entrance, she’d had to wait until after the evening meal before she’d been able to engineer a suitably private meeting.

Dixon and Hillsythe had listened to her condensed version of Diccon’s tale, then had called Diccon over. After she’d convinced Diccon that his Captain Caleb—the only name Diccon had been given—wouldn’t mind him repeating his story to Dixon and Hillsythe, they’d taken Diccon over his report again. Hillsythe in particular—to this day, Katherine did not understand exactly what his background was—had focused on the captain; with a sense of suppressed but building excitement, Hillsythe had asked Diccon to describe the man. Hillsythe had been well-nigh transformed by Diccon’s reply; clearly in the grip of some heightened anticipation, Hillsythe had called Will Hopkins and Fanshawe over and had Diccon repeat his description of the captain to them.

“Frobisher.” Will had breathed the name, then glanced at Fanshawe. “A Captain Caleb who looks like that and who has led a crew here on a clandestine operation...that has to be Caleb Frobisher.”

His eyes alight, Fanshawe had nodded. “And if it is he...damn. This is really happening.” Enthusiasm of a sort Katherine hadn’t heard for months had colored his tone. Fanshawe had met Hillsythe’s, then Dixon’s eyes. “There really is a rescue underway.”

Despite the excitement in his eyes, Hillsythe had swiftly said, “We need to keep this to ourselves—at least until we learn more.” He’d glanced at Diccon. “You, too, Diccon.” Hillsythe had paused, then added, “As matters stand, you’re a vital cog in this, m’lad—you’re our only way of maintaining contact with those outside.”

That had been Katherine’s cue. “Actually,” she’d said, “I asked Dubois this morning if one of the women, taking turns, couldn’t be allowed to go out with Diccon. We bargained—you know how he is. But the upshot is that he agreed as a trial to let me go into the jungle with Diccon in return for me bringing back those nuts he’s particularly fond of.”

Dixon had grinned. “It seems our luck’s finally turned. For once, matters are falling our way.”

Hillsythe had nodded. “That’s excellent—an unlooked-for advantage.” He’d looked at Diccon. “That doesn’t make your role any less important. Miss Fortescue can be our mouthpiece, the one more able to tell the captain all he needs to know, but she and we all will be depending on you to guide her to the captain and his men and get her back again, too. No one knows the jungle around about anywhere near as well as you do.”

Katherine had smiled at Hillsythe. That had been exactly the right thing to say.

They’d sent a happy Diccon back to join his friends. The four men had looked at each other, then Dixon had said, “Frobisher—assuming it’s he—said he and his men were the scouting party.” He’d looked at Katherine. “Katherine, my dear, we need you to go out and learn what the situation really is before any hopes are raised.”

She’d understood perfectly. To have lost all hope, then have it handed back, only to have it snatched away again...that would be beyond cruel. She’d nodded. “Of course. I’ll go out with Diccon tomorrow and meet with...Captain Frobisher and learn all I can.”

So here she was, collecting nuts by rote, but... “Where the devil is Frobisher?” she muttered.

She bent over to pick up yet another nut—and a frisson of awareness swept over her nape. She abruptly straightened and looked around, searching through the shadows beneath the trees.

And he was suddenly there, walking out from the shadows, materializing from the gloom. She swung to face him and swiftly took in all she could see—all her senses could glean. The confidence in his easy stride, his lean, clean-cut features, his square chin, and the thick, dark locks that overhung a broad brow. His relaxed expression contrasted with the sword that rode on his hip—so very comfortably, it seemed. He was at least six feet tall and broad-shouldered, all lean muscle and masculine grace, then her gaze rose to his face, and she noted the network of lines at the corners of his eyes that she’d noticed many sailors bore. Then her gaze skated down over his strong nose and fastened on his mouth.

On a pair of mobile lips that looked like they curved readily...

And there her gaze remained as he halted before her.

Stop staring!

With an effort, she managed to haul her gaze to his eyes. The lines at the corners crinkled as he smiled.

She felt her temperature rise and feared it showed in her cheeks. But great heavens! Smiles like that—on men like him—should be outlawed.

“Good morning. Miss Fortescue, I believe?”

His voice was deep, slightly rumbly, and ruffled her senses like an invisible hand.

She managed a nod. “Ah...yes.”

So eloquent! She nearly shook her head in an attempt to shake her wits back into place. Instead, she forced herself to look aside, to glance at Diccon; he’d drifted away searching for fruit and berries.

He’d heard Frobisher’s voice and came running up.

She caught the boy to her, draping a protective arm over his shoulders. “Diccon told us you had come to learn more about the camp so that a rescue could be mounted.” Reminding herself of Frobisher’s supposed purpose helped her stiffen her spine. She raised her gaze to his eyes once more. “Is that so?”

He inclined his head, but his expression hardening, he lifted his gaze from her face and scanned the vegetation about them. Then he returned his gaze to her eyes, and all trace of the lighthearted gentleman had vanished. “Forgive me for asking this, Miss Fortescue, but I must. Don’t rip up at me.” He lowered his voice. “Are you truly free of Dubois? Free to talk, free to take back what I say to your colleagues at the mine?” He paused, then, his blue gaze locked on her eyes, he asked, “Can I trust you?”

“Yes.” The word came spontaneously, and she realized she meant it on every level. How odd. She didn’t trust others all that easily. Fate and hard-won experience had taught her bitter lessons she’d never forgotten. But there was something about him—this man who had, against all hope, walked out of the jungle to meet her—that spoke to her and reassured her at some level she didn’t comprehend. She nodded and repeated, “Yes. You can trust all of us.” She gestured in the direction of the camp. “We’ve worked together for months. If we had any who might have been tempted to collude with Dubois and his men, we would have known long ago.”

She glanced at Diccon and realization dawned. “But if it’s my coming out with Diccon that has worried you, I had already asked Dubois for permission for the women, one a day in rotation, to go out with Diccon. Dubois agreed to a trial, but with only me being allowed out and that only for an hour, and only to collect these nuts”—she gestured to the contents of her basket—“that he particularly enjoys. He very likely hopes his conditions will drive a wedge between me and the other women by making me appear to be favored.” She grinned cynically and glanced up at Frobisher. “That’s how he thinks. Unfortunately for Dubois, it was another woman’s idea—I just offered to ask.”

He frowned. “I need you to tell me about Dubois—about how he manages the camp and all of you.”

She hesitated, her gaze on his face. His handsome face, but this time, she looked beyond the glamour. “First...will you tell me your name, please?”

He met her eyes, then he stepped back and swept her a bow. “Captain Caleb Frobisher, of Frobisher Shipping Company, sailing out of Aberdeen.” Despite his level tone, as he straightened, he waggled his brows at her.

She nearly laughed in surprise, threw him a mock-disapproving look instead, but the silly byplay reassured her. “Hopkins and Fanshawe thought that was who you were.”

“Ah, of course. I don’t know them personally, but they would know my older brothers.”

She peered into the shadows behind him. “Diccon said you had twenty-four men with you.”

Caleb grinned down at Diccon, who had remained beside Katherine and was staring up at Caleb with rapt attention. “That’s correct, but most are busy burying some weapons in a cache by the lake, and others are watching the compound or guarding our camp. I only brought one man with me—a friend, another captain, who I’m grateful saw fit to join me in this mission.” He returned his gaze to Katherine’s face. “With your permission?”

When she nodded, he waved to Phillipe to join them.

Phillipe walked out of the jungle. Caleb performed the introductions—and discovered he wasn’t all that happy to have to watch Phillipe bow over Miss Fortescue’s hand and press a kiss to her knuckles.

He knew it was just Phillipe’s way, yet...

But on retrieving her hand with no more than a polite smile, Miss Fortescue immediately returned her bright hazel eyes to Caleb’s face. “Weapons?”

He felt oddly mollified. “Indeed.” He looked at Diccon. “Perhaps you’d better gather more fruit so that you can go back with Miss Fortescue. She only has another twenty minutes or so left.”

Diccon flashed Caleb a swift grin. “All right. Will you still be here?”

“Yes.” Caleb looked around and spotted a fallen log; he pointed to it. “We’ll be over there.”

“Right-o!” Diccon smiled at Miss Fortescue. “There’s a big berry bush I passed yesterday nearer to the lake. I’ll be back in no time.”

“I’ll wait for you.” Miss Fortescue watched Diccon run off, then she looked at Caleb. “Sadly, there’s no need to protect him. He told us he thought that you and your men had killed Kale and his slavers. Is that correct?”

Caleb kept his gaze on Diccon’s dwindling figure. “We didn’t just kill Kale and his crew—we wiped all sign of them from this earth.” He looked back and met Miss Fortescue’s pretty hazel eyes without apology. “That’s where the weapons come from.”

Her gaze remained steady on his face. “Once that news is known in the compound, you’ll be feted as a hero. For all of us, Kale was the instigator of our captivity.”

Caleb hesitated, then said, “He might have been the one who arranged your kidnappings, but the instigators...sadly, they’re closer to home.” He saw the questions leap to her eyes, but forced himself to wave them aside—to wave her to the fallen log. “You don’t have much time, and there’s a lot of information we need, as well as news we should impart.”

She nodded and accompanied him to the log. He reached for her hand—felt the delicate bones under his larger, stronger fingers; he gripped gently and handed her to the log. She drew in her skirts and sat, with an unconscious grace that would have done credit to a ton drawing room.

Rather than sit beside her—he wasn’t at all sure that would be a good idea, Phillipe’s presence notwithstanding—Caleb sat on the ground facing her, and Phillipe fluidly sat alongside him.

The instant they’d settled, she asked, “What do you need to know?”

Caleb thought of all they’d seen and noticed about the captives. “How does Dubois run the camp?”

She held his gaze. “By intimidation.”

Phillipe frowned. “How so? We haven’t seen any sign of aggression from him toward any of those he holds.”

“He doesn’t need to convince us of anything.” Miss Fortescue’s slim fingers twined, then gripped. “Let me tell you the tale those who were the first to be brought to the compound told me.”

In an even tone, with no real inflection, she proceeded to tell them of an act of violence, of viciousness, that made them both pale under their tans and tied their stomachs in knots. Caleb literally felt nauseated.

She concluded, “That girl was the only captive lost to us.” She paused, then went on, “Dixon, Harriet Frazier, Hopkins, and Fanshawe, as well as several of the men and quite a few of the children, were here at the time. Subsequently, if there’s the slightest sign of resistance, Dubois will pick some scapegoat and make threats—quietly, calmly, and utterly cold-bloodedly. And every one of us knows he’ll carry out those threats to the letter if we give him the excuse. Beneath his outwardly controlled demeanor lurks a monster.”

Her expression bleak, she met Caleb’s gaze. “That’s how he controls us. He never threatens the one he wants to cow, but whoever he believes that person is closest to—that person’s emotional Achilles’ heel.”

“Like he threatens Diccon with his friends’ lives?” Caleb asked.

She nodded. “Exactly. So we do what we must to survive—to keep all of us alive. We do what he asks, exactly what he asks...but no more than that.” She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “But that doesn’t mean we’re not actively fighting him—we just fight in a different way.”

Caleb had to admire her quiet dignity. “How so?”

“We’ve been trying to work out a way to escape, all of us together, but how to deal with the mercenaries is a problem we’ve yet to solve. In the meantime...we let Dubois believe he manages the mine, but in reality, in that respect, we manage him. He’s truly complacent over his hold on us—and in the way he thinks of it, that’s understandable enough. He’s clever and intelligent, and used to succeeding, but like many people who are very sure of themselves, he doesn’t appreciate what he doesn’t know.”

She looked from Caleb to Phillipe, then returned her gaze to Caleb’s face. “In this case, what Dubois doesn’t know is how a mine really operates. His understanding of that is very limited. Once Hillsythe arrived...he saw it and explained how we could use Dubois’s lack of real knowledge against him and so manage how fast the diamonds are mined.” She paused and drew in a breath. “We all know that once the diamonds run out, the mine will be closed, and we’ll all be killed. Even the children understand that—they might be young, but they’re from the slums, and when it comes to survival, they’re very quick. So we manage the output from the mine with a view to eking it out for long enough for us to find some way to escape.”

Caleb nodded decisively. “That’s going to fit nicely with our mission. We’re here to learn the location of the camp and ensure that gets back to London. Whatever else we can learn of the mine, of Dubois and his men and the overall operation, will assist mightily in formulating a viable rescue mission, which, as I understand it and now fully expect, will be the next stage.”

She frowned. “This rescue force will come from London?” When Caleb nodded, she asked, “Why? Why hasn’t anyone from the settlement come to find us? Why can’t the soldiers from the fort or the men from the navy ships come to free us?”

Caleb grimaced. “That’s what I alluded to earlier—the villains closer to home. We know there are several—more than one, most likely more than two—people in positions of authority in the settlement who are actively involved in this.” He met her gaze. “Lady Holbrook was one. She’s now fled the colony, but we know there are others still in place. The naval attaché, Muldoon, plays an active part, but who his coconspirators are is at present unknown, so we can’t afford to raise a force from the settlement. By the time such a force reaches here...to be blunt, it’s likely all the captives in the compound will have been executed, any evidence in the compound destroyed, and Dubois and his men will be long gone.”

She’d paled slightly, but her expression hardened, and she nodded. “I understand. That makes sense of the silence until now.”

Caleb hurried to add, “That’s not to say that those kidnapped have been forgotten by their friends in the settlement. Rather, because of the activity of the villains and their associates, said friends have been unable to get anything done. For instance, the Sherbrooks haven’t forgotten you, but their pleas to Governor Holbrook were turned aside, Holbrook having been duped by his wife.” Concisely—and speaking ever more rapidly—he gave her a severely edited account of his brother Declan’s mission, followed by that of his brother Robert, the sum of what they’d discovered, and the conclusions that had been drawn. “So, you see, it’s imperative that we get news of the mine’s location plus as much information about Dubois’s operation as we can back to London, so that an effective rescue can be launched with all speed from there.”

She nodded. “I cannot tell you how...heartening it is to know that there are people who care and who are working to free us. That someone—some group—understands the situation and is truly committed to getting us out of this jungle alive.” She hesitated, then more quietly said, “We’d almost lost hope, but this news will give everyone heart again.”

“That’s all to the good,” Caleb said, “but please make sure everyone understands that even with us sending word as fast as any ship can go, it’s going to be weeks yet before any rescue force can reach here.”

“How long, exactly?”

He frowned. “I suspect it’ll be at least a month.”

Phillipe snorted. “Even with your family’s ships, it’ll be more like six weeks.”

Caleb caught Katherine’s gaze. “Do you think you and the others will be able to stretch the mining out that long?”

She sat straighter. “Obviously, we’ll have to. I’m sure with rescue pending, we’ll manage somehow.”

Phillipe looked at Caleb. “You should check the list of the missing.”

“Ah—yes.” Caleb drew his notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. “These are the people known to have gone missing from Freetown. Obviously, we haven’t got all the names, but by the same token, we don’t know if all these people were kidnapped for the mine.” He read down the list.

Katherine confirmed each and every name. When he came to the end, she reiterated, “All of those people are at the mine and still alive. As I said, the only one lost was that young girl. She was called Daisy. None of the others who were kidnapped know her full name. Of course, we’ve had accidents and injuries, but Dubois is motivated to keep us alive and functioning so we can continue to produce diamonds as swiftly as possible, and his current difficulty in getting more men—let alone replacements—ensures he continues to treat us well.” She lifted a shoulder. “Essentially, he can’t afford not to.”

Phillipe shot Caleb a glance. “That’s what’s behind the medical hut.”

When Katherine nodded, Caleb said, “Diccon will be back any minute. Is there anything more—any insights you can share—that will help us better understand what’s happening in the camp?”

She hesitated for only a heartbeat, then said, “There’s a stalemate of sorts operating at the moment, holding everything in check. Dubois is under increasing pressure to produce more diamonds more quickly—as we interpret it, to mine out the deposit as fast as possible, so that those behind the scheme can order us all killed and protect themselves from any risk of exposure.”

Caleb grimaced. “That’s almost certainly correct.”

“Against that, however—and you need to understand that Dubois never cares if we overhear his discussions with his men—we know he, Dubois, has been stymied in pushing ahead by a lack of more men. He’s been calling for more for weeks, but Kale hasn’t been supplying as many as Dubois needs.” Her lips curved with satisfaction. “And now, of course, Kale won’t be supplying any more at all.”

Phillipe pulled a face. “We’ll have to see how that plays out. Dubois doesn’t strike me as the sort to let Kale’s disappearance stop him for long.”

“No,” she admitted with a dip of her head. “But it will slow things down even further, which is all to our good. Dubois doesn’t dare push us—the workers he already has—too hard for fear of accidents and injuries, which will only result in lower production. So he’s caught—he has to simply wait for more men. That helps us keep production from the mine at what we hope will be a safely low level.”

Diccon appeared, sliding through the palms.

They all rose. Caleb felt a flaring impulse to reach for Katherine Fortescue’s hand; he thrust both his hands into his breeches pockets instead. “Last question—I assume all those held captive have elected a leader. Who is it?”

“We actually have two—Dixon and Hillsythe. Dixon manages the mine, and Hillsythe plots our way. The others—their lieutenants, I suppose—are Lieutenants Hopkins and Fanshawe, and I speak for the women and children.”

Caleb spared a smile for Diccon, but immediately returned his gaze to Katherine Fortescue’s face. “If there’s any way to do it, I would like reports from Dixon and Hillsythe. They’ll know what’s needed, and such reports would be invaluable.”

She nodded. “I’ll ask.” She paused, then added, “Given the reports will have to be done in secret, they will almost certainly take more than a day to prepare.” She met Caleb’s gaze. “I’ll come out again the day after tomorrow. If Dixon and Hillsythe have the reports ready, I’ll bring them then.”

“Thank you.” Caleb bent and picked up her basket. He handed it to her. “One thing—please stress to everyone concerned that at no point should they do anything to arouse suspicion.”

She nodded and turned to Diccon. She took his hand, then glanced at Caleb. “Thank you.” Her gaze moved briefly to include Phillipe, then returned to Caleb’s face. “I’ll see you in two days.”

She turned away, and she and Diccon started toward the compound.

Caleb and Phillipe watched them go, then once the pair were far enough ahead, started trailing behind.

They halted deep in the jungle shadows, well concealed from the guards on the gate, and watched Katherine Fortescue and Diccon walk stoically back into captivity.

After a moment, Phillipe stirred. “She told us quite a lot. Dubois sounds...dangerous.”

“Hmm. And this bind he’s in—more production on the one hand, no ability to achieve it on the other. That must be frustrating, yet he doesn’t seem to have lashed out.”

“Which only proves my point,” Phillipe said. “Dangerous. Any man can play the bully. A sadistic bully who can control himself...that’s something else again.”

Caleb grunted and turned away. “Let’s get back to the camp. I’d better start writing my own report, because heaven knows, these people need rescuing.”

* * *

After seeing Diccon on his way to the kitchen with his basket full of berries, Katherine reined in her giddy, rather scattered thoughts, mentally girded her loins, hefted her basket, and climbed the steps to the mercenaries’ barracks.

She walked along the narrow porch to the single door, which lay toward the left of the front of the long building and was presently propped open. Dubois’s “office” lay beyond the door in the space at the end of the single room, separated from the bunk beds by a communal area with stools and low tables where the off-duty mercenaries lounged and played cards. Out of ingrained courtesy, she tapped on the door frame, waited for a heartbeat, then calmly walked in. She spared not a glance for the other mercenaries sprawled at their ease but fixed her gaze on Dubois’s desk and the man himself, leaning back in his chair behind it.

There was a wide window set in the side wall of the barracks. Through it, Dubois could see the entrance to the mine. He appeared to be staring moodily at that sight, but as she approached, he turned to study her.

By anyone’s measure, he cut a commanding figure, with a powerful physique, thick dark hair, and even features. He had oddly pale hazel eyes; she often thought that cold steel had somehow got mixed into the hue. Hazel eyes weren’t usually chilling, but Dubois’s gaze certainly was.

“Miss Fortescue.” Dubois didn’t smile, yet she detected amusement in his tone. Much like a cat viewing a potential mouse. His gaze fell to the basket. “I take it your foraging was successful?”

“Indeed.” She placed the basket on the desk. “Here are your nuts. I quite enjoyed my time beyond the palisade, but I confess I hadn’t expected the atmosphere beneath the trees to be quite so oppressive.” She frowned as if somewhat chagrined. “I suspect I had better not indulge again tomorrow—not so soon.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Perhaps one of the other women might take my place and fetch nuts for you tomorrow?”

Dubois’s lips eased. He reached out and pulled the basket toward him. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I believe I will be quite content with nuts delivered every second day.” He looked steadily at her. “By you.” He paused for a beat, then stated, “Thank you, Miss Fortescue. That will be all.”

Katherine suppressed a derisive snort. She contented herself with a tiny, haughty inclination of her head, then she turned and left the room.

The man made her skin crawl. His habit of trying to bait her—and the others who were well born, too—by subtly lording it over them added another layer of grating irritation.

But they had all long ago resolved not to react—not to play the mouse to Dubois’s cat. As he enjoyed the hunt so much, he tended to let them go—the better to taunt them the next time.

Descending once more to the dust of the compound, she drew in a deep breath—and finally allowed everything she’d learned in the jungle that morning to surge to the forefront of her brain.

Rescue was on the way. They hadn’t been forgotten.

She felt hope, real hope, bubbling up inside—a startling, entirely unexpected upwelling of an emotion she’d thought excised from her soul.

She remained where she was, staring unseeing out of the gates while she considered who she should speak with first, what was most important to be communicated, and how best to achieve that.

Over and above all other considerations, she resolved that, whatever steps she and subsequently the other captives took, they would need to ensure they did absolutely nothing to jeopardize the safety of Captain Caleb Frobisher and his men—for all their sakes.