Chapter Eight
She spun around wide-eyed and found herself face to face with Captain Hardacre and Uncle Jonas.
“My dear, oh how you would have loved to have seen the old Roman city…” her uncle started. Sophia heard no more as Hardacre’s eyes met hers. His sensuous lips were now a tight line. A blush rose up her cheeks.
He knew.
“… mind you, it would have been impossible for a woman to get through…” Jonas continued, unaware he didn’t have his star pupil’s rapt attention.
Sophia couldn’t guess how much the captain knew of her whereabouts and she couldn’t very well ask him.
“…we walked through knee deep water – sometimes even chest height, but once we were there, the mosaic frescos looked as fresh as the day they were laid and we found what appears to be the entrance to a Temple of Aesculpius, an early hospital.”
Sophia tore her eyes from Hardacre’s.
“Did you find any statues or images of Minerva?” she asked.
“Alas not, I took some rough sketches of the frescoes, but I want you to go over them with me tomorrow. Do your finest work in watercolors and pen sketches, my dear, and we’ll send our story back to England along with your illustrations. If we can create public interest back home, I’m sure I can convince the university to extend funding for another three months!”
Jonas stopped when they reached the pier where the Calliope had been docked and looked bemused.
“I hate to tell you, Captain, your ship appears to have sailed off without you,” he said.
Sophia watched Hardacre laugh and point down a ladder to which a dinghy was tied.
“Then, Captain, I’m afraid your ship has shrunk!”
“I can assure you the Calliope is safe and sound. She lies at anchor just over there ready for our departure at the change of tide,” Hardacre said, nodding to the middle of the Tagus.
“But we do need to be on our way. Professor, do you need assistance?”
“No, no, good fellow, I’ll be fine.”
Uncle Jonas handed his satchel to Sophia before he climbed down the ladder and stepped into the small craft. He wobbled for a moment, uncertain of his footing before settling onto a bench at the bow.
Hardacre took the satchel from Sophia’s hands, giving her a peculiar look as he did so. He put the strap across his chest and held out his hands for her parcels which he stuffed into the laced opening of his shirt.
He descended the ladder and put the parcels and satchel into Jonas’ lap.
“Your turn, Miss Green,” he called.
Sophia clutched the top rail, stepped around it and steadied herself, pulling her skirts out of the way as she stepped down rung by rung. Her dress hampered her once more and she missed a step. A pair of broad hands encircled her waist.
“I have you. Just let go.”
Tentatively, Sophia did as he asked. The grip at her waist tightened and she was lifted away from the ladder. The little boat tilted alarmingly before righting itself.
“You can open your eyes now.” Hardacre’s voice was soft in her ear. She faced him and, suddenly, the hands at her waist felt… intimate. Something inside quickened. Sophia wished she could better see his face. A moment later, the hands slid away from her waist but one captured hers to steady her as she sat beside her uncle.
Silhouetted against the twilight sky, the captain cast off the ropes and pushed away from the pier before engaging the oarlocks to begin rowing.
For the second time in three days, she waited with bated breath for him to say something, to call her out for going ashore without letting anyone know, but the ride was made in silence. Uncle Jonas was apparently oblivious to the tension in the air. With the exception of an occasional glance to confirm he remained on course, Hardacre seemed to keep his attention solely on her. Perhaps she was mistaken. Sophia hoped she was. She didn’t want to be the focus of any man’s attention but Samuel’s.
“Captain to board!”
A moment later, a cargo net was flung over the side, followed by two ropes. Hardacre gained his feet and threaded the ropes through eyelets fore and aft of the dinghy. He tied them securely and clambered part way up the net then yelled.
“Secured! Two to board.”
“Aye, Captain, two to board… Heave!”
The dinghy rocked. Sophia clutched the side.
“Heave!”
Each time the command was given, the boat rocked and gained more height until it swung high over the water. Dozens of hands tugged at the boat, the davit swinging across until it was over the deck itself.
Two other men aided Uncle Jonas, but Sophia was swept into Hardacre’s arms and carried a safe distance away from the still swinging boat.
Up close, she could see the coarseness of the stubble of his cheeks, feel the hardness of his chest. Amid the smell of the sea, there was the faint green and grassy smell of vetiver. The strange reaction to his body so close returned.
“You’d best let me down,” she whispered. Sophia wished she could read his eyes, the color of which seemed to change with the mood. Now there was a hint of grey. His left hand dropped away, his right held her firm until she had found her feet. But still, his eyes never left hers.
“Captain.” Mr. Afua called Hardacre’s attention and the spell was broken. Sophia took a few paces away and wondered why her legs struggled to hold her weight.
“We’re ready to sail.”
“Set sail, Mister Afua.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The black man cupped his hands and yelled, “Weigh anchor!”
There was an answering call from the bow, and four men turned at the capstan while another four unfurled the jib and the foresails.
She accepted her parcels from Uncle Jonas, before spotting Laura who had just emerged from the stern gangway. Even without her eyeglasses, Sophia could not mistake her look of censure.
“It’s been a long day, Uncle,” Sophia told him. “I’d like to rest before dinner.”
“I think I’ll take my meal in my room tonight, my dear,” he said. “And see if it is possible to have some hot water sent. I’m exhausted and I can’t imagine wading through Lisbon’s storm water systems would make me fit company tonight.”
Sophia offered him a wan smile. Jonas might not see much beyond the nose on his face, but Laura was a different matter. There would be a reckoning. And she would take Laura’s scolding, as long as she could be sure the captain knew nothing of her whereabouts this afternoon.
“Well?”
Sophia ignored the question. She poured steaming water into the washbowl and set the ewer on the dressing table. She shimmied out of the arms of her cotton wrapper, letting it fall around the tie at her waist, picking up her soap and sponge to begin her wash.
When she looked up, the angry reflection in the mirror hadn’t softened.
“I hope you appreciate this is how I feel every time the groom comes back to the house to say he’s lost you,” Sophia offered.
Apparently, this was exactly the wrong thing to say because Laura’s face turned from pink to puce.
“How dare you make this about me!” Laura’s hands balled into fists. “‘Silly little Laura, can’t be trusted to make her own decisions; let’s not say anything to Laura because she won’t understand’. I am not a child and I am not a halfwit. You, on the other hand, are the most outrageous hypocrite who ever lived. You scold me for a small diversion within the safety of Hyde Park but you wander off in a foreign country without a word to me or anyone.”
Sophia continued her wash, taking the verbal lashing without comment. Laura was right, of course. It wasn’t wise, but nothing had happened, and they were all safe together back on the Calliope, so no harm done.
“You’re right. I’m sorry for making you worry. It won’t happen again.”
Laura had opened her mouth, ready to give her another piece of her mind, no doubt, but she closed it on Sophia’s apology.
“Where did you go?”
“I went to the church and a priest heard my confession. Then I went to the markets to collect my dresses.”
Sophia watched Laura consider her answer. “So you weren’t gone long.”
Sophia shook her head – “long” was a relative term, after all. By her estimation, she had been off ship for about three hours.
“Well, an hour isn’t too bad, I suppose, and I’m glad you weren’t foolish enough to go on your own at least. I’m glad you made up with Captain Hardacre and allowed him to be your escort. I like him, even if his manner is a bit odd.”
Sophia rested the sponge in the soapy water and allowed her eyes to skitter away from her cousin’s reflection. She had just been to confession and was doing penance. She could tell Laura the truth and lose all authority over directing Laura’s own behavior or she could lie, which would be a sin – so she chose a lesser one, that of omission, and said nothing.
*
Kit called “enter” in response to three firm knocks. He had just finished reviewing the ship’s logs and was adding his signature.
Tomorrow, they would be in the Mediterranean Sea, passing through the Straits of Gibraltar – all that separated Europe from the Barbary Coast. He felt the anticipation course through his veins. Six months of living like a respectable gentleman in England’s refined drawing rooms chafed.
He belonged out here, matching wits with Kaddouri. The Calliope might be outmanned and outgunned, but he never forgot the old Roman saying.
The elephant hates the mouse above all other creatures.
He would wager his men were the best disciplined on the sea. They lived and fought and celebrated together. And together, they would deal with Kaddouri for good, or die trying.
Father Bartholomew had written to dioceses in Portugal, Spain, Italy and even reached out to the Eastern Orthodox Church in Greece for dates, places, and names of those who had been abducted by the Barbary Coast pirates. Not all could be attributable to Kaddouri, of course – he was just one of hundreds of pirate raiders to kill, plunder, rape and enslave men, women and children. Yet he had come to represent them all to Kit.
He had only come face to face with Kaddouri once and it had nearly been his last. The pirate was older than Kit imagined – a big, hulking man at the end of his fourth decade. Kit respected him as an enemy. A man would be a fool – and swiftly dead – if he did not.
Their raid on the stronghold city of Bagrada had been successful. They rescued one hundred women and children that night and sailed them away in one of Kaddouri’s own ships while their vessel, the Terpsichore, acted as decoy for Kaddouri’s men to lob incendiary bombs at as well as cannon fire. The Terpsichore danced her last, burning down to the waterline, but not before all hands were safely accounted for.
The sale of the stolen ship was more than enough to fund the purchase and refit of the Calliope. Meanwhile, Kit’s personal share of the gold, spices and silks they had also “liberated” from the pirates over the years had been enough to buy a small fishing and farming island a day’s sailing from Sicily.
It was probably the fact he knew nothing about farming that appealed to him most. He was content for a tenant farming family to manage the estate for him. They would make it profitable, while he built a beautiful villa. When he was ready to settle down, he’d become a gentleman farmer with no more worries than whether there was enough water for the olives and grapes this year.
He forced himself back to concentrate on Elias’ words.
“Based on Father Bartholomew’s letters, I’ve managed to map out the slave raids over the past six months. Of the seventy-two recorded, eighteen have the hallmarks of Kaddouri’s enterprise,” said Elias.
When the weather was fair, as it often was during the late spring and summer months, the raids were frequent on coastal towns along the European coast or islands nearby. But from November, the time when the fog rolled in and the winter storms were ferocious, there might be months between raids. Those recorded were on the islands closer to the African coast and dates less precise. Under the best of conditions, these places might only see a ship every three months.
Elias picked up the mapping compass and drew a semicircle around the areas he had identified as Kaddouri’s work.
“That leaves the coastline between Hizir and Alavar as the most likely places for his new stronghold… And, there was something else that happened while you were out today.”
Kit gave his first officer a sidelong glance. “Miss Sophia left the ship without escort and without telling anyone this afternoon. Miss Laura was most concerned – especially when we prepared the ship ahead of this afternoon’s tide.”
Elias paused. “Was she with you?” His attempt to ask the question lightly, failed.
“I spent most of the afternoon with Bartholomew, you know that.”
Elias drew breath to say something else but halted. It was not like him to prevaricate. Kit gave the man his undivided attention.
“Spit it out. We’ve been friends more years than I care to count.”
Elias put down his mapping compass.
“I see the way you look at her. You can’t sport with her the way you do with other women. She’s not one of your doxies. She’s a lady of quality.”
“Are you afraid I’ll break her heart?” Kit was aware of the sarcasm in his question.
Elias shook his head gravely. “I’m afraid she’ll break yours.”