The crew knew only that they were transporting Miss Chase on her search for something bequeathed by her dead father. No whisper of the T word.
Instead of pious charities, Nick knew several whores who’d appreciate a donation from his share of whatever treasure they found.
That should make his father roll over in his grave.
“Care to share the joke, Cap’n?”
“Not yet, Bos’n. Not yet.”
Chapter 4
Pleased with the excellent time they’d made coming down the Thames, Nick stopped at the mouth of the river in Gravesend long enough for the bumboats to come alongside and let his crew make last purchases of fresh fruit and other luxuries before heading out to the Channel. They also brought aboard the ship’s surgeon, who’d been visiting his family.
Now a day out to sea, with England no longer visible, their progress slowed as the wind seemed to take back what it had so freely given on the congested river. Nick took a deep breath of the freshening breeze. Rain was coming. On the open sea, with nothing to slow down the billowing storm clouds blowing their way, they would soon be diving bows under, his crew getting soaked.
How would a novice sailor like Miss Chase and her maid handle rough seas? Nick had already done the hauling-them-back-from-the-rail bit when a previous passenger, carrying valuable intelligence on French battle plans, had become seasick two days shy of Dover. It took the crew a week to rid the fo’c’sle of the stench, not to mention Nick’s sore arms from keeping the spy from falling overboard.
Miss Chase was petite, but her maid was as big as an outhouse. Time to check on them. Besides, he hadn’t seen either of them since before they’d cast off in London. Luigi reported Miss Chase had fetched their food, citing the maid’s seasickness. The little brown wren had passed him his logbook and other supplies around the edge of the door as if afraid of passing contagion to him. Or catching it from him.
His cabin probably stank to high heaven by now.
He signaled to Bos’n that he was going below, and went to check on the damage.
“We’re fine,” came Miss Chase’s reply through the door. “No need to trouble yourself on our account, Captain.”
“It’s no trouble at all.” Nick forced a smile into his voice. Just what were they doing in there they didn’t want him to know about?
“Really, there’s no need to bother about us.”
The chipper tone in her voice sounded just as false and forced as his own, setting off alarm bells. “Really, Miss Chase, I insist. I hope you’re decent.” Without giving her any more warning, he pushed the lever to open the door.
Locked.
What in blazes were the chits doing, locking him out of his own cabin?
Of course. Protecting themselves against his ravaging crew. He should have thought of that himself, not that he had any worries about the crew on behalf of Miss Chase. His men knew better than to crap in their own nest.
He heard scurrying sounds from within the cabin as he fished the small ring of keys from his waistcoat pocket and opened the door.
Miss Chase stood at the head of the bunk, her cheeks flushed, bosom heaving against her décolletage. He admired the view a moment before realizing her hands were tucked behind her back.
His alarm bells were still ringing. “Are you feeling well, Miss Chase? Most people become acclimated after three days or so at sea.”
“I am fine, thank you, as I said. It is poor Betsy here who is having a tough time.” She gestured at the maid curled up on the bunk, then quickly put her hand behind her back again. The maid was completely covered by the red and black plaid wool blanket, with not even the top of her head visible.
Aw, crap. All he needed was the maid casting up her accounts on his blanket and mattress. He patted the lump near what might be her shoulder. “You’ll feel better if you get some fresh air. Up you go.” He reached for the corner of the blanket, only to be blocked by Miss Chase.
“Really, Captain, Betsy is too ill to walk. We’ll just stay here.”
Nick narrowed his eyes. “I’ll carry her,” he ground out, and flung the blanket back.
Instead of the sickly maid, there were just more blankets, molded into a vaguely human shape.
Miss Chase nibbled on her bottom lip.
“Where is your maid, Miss Chase?” Nick felt the pulse beat at his temple. There could still be a simple explanation. The maid being off diddling with one of his crew wasn’t the most disruptive thing a passenger had ever done but an annoyance nonetheless.
No answer was forthcoming.
