CHAPTER 8
Southampton
The seagulls cawed above as they circled the port under the midday sun. Sailors rolled barrels up the planks and secured supplies on to the Himalaya for their long journey to India. Another sailor shouted to another shipmate on board, his face weathered by years at sea and hard labor. Emma glanced up and saw the white fluffy clouds that dotted the sky. For now, the weather was agreeable, as surely rain would greet them at sea.
Several weeks on a clipper ship—with Michael—made her uneasy. Emma shifted uncomfortably where she stood, recalling the awkward exchange that transpired at Chatham Hall yesterday. She headed for home soon after the heartfelt ceremony and promised Kyra she’d write.
The Earl of Chatham, Michael’s twin, was a curious man. Several times before the ceremony, she caught him watching her with a lecherous glint in his eyes. She didn’t doubt Lord Chatham had his pick of the fresh litters of young girls, all prettied up like porcelain dolls in London ballrooms. She couldn’t help but feel self-conscious under his scrutiny.
Twice when Lord Chatham closed in on her and attempted to converse with her, Michael was by her side in a flash. Was it due to the fact that he didn’t trust her? Or he didn’t trust his brother alone with her? She suspected both.
A sense of mixed feelings swirled within her like a torrid storm. This feeling she had for Michael was dangerous and would not leave her despite her many efforts to banish him from her thoughts. It would surely complicate the mission.
There were days when she couldn’t possibly think of spending another minute of her day without him. She chuckled inwardly at the foolishness of her own naivety. How silly it was of her to think that they could have a future. She realized if it hadn’t been for Lord Tomkin’s strength and guidance, hope would have been lost. Hope in finding the killer. Hope of restoring her family’s memory. Though her own future seemed bleak, she carefully tucked away the glorious memories of them together at the cottage, which made the dreary days bearable.
Still she would not pretend, as she was acutely aware of the prickling sickness, that she wasn’t ready for this mission. But that didn’t mean it was going to stop her either. Squaring her shoulders, she wasted no time in letting her nerves control her again. Hitching up her skirt, she walked up the plank.
“Miss…Miss!”
She stopped and glanced back over her shoulders. A young boy in a jacket a tad too big and trousers a tad too small ran toward her, dodging carts and carriages that nearly hit the poor little boy.
“Miss.” The boy stopped in his tracks huffing and puffing in front of her.
“Hullo, there!” She lowered to eye level and faced him.
He handed her a note, grinning as if he’d been given a sweet confection.
“For me?”
“Yes, mum,” the boy said. “A man paid me a quid to deliver it to ye.”
“A man?” Emma looked around the busy port, but saw nothing amiss. Perhaps it was Michael informing her of his tardiness? “Did he have dark hair…tall?” she said imitating Michael. “Brooding?” She contorted her face to imitate the often severe look Michael donned every time he saw her.
The boy giggled. “Yer a funny lady, miss.”
Emma smiled, opened the message to read its contents: Be warned. Do not trust Michael. She went very still, scanning the perimeter of the port again. “Where is the man now?”
The little boy pointed to a large building with a wooden rectangular sign post above the windows: Johnson & Morgan Shipping. “He was there a minute ago, miss.”
Emma scanned the perimeter of the adjoining buildings, hoping to see a suspicious figure lurking about. “Do you see him in the crowd?”
“No. Good day, mum.” With that the boy scampered away.
She stood and tucked the note inside her reticule. Turning, she proceeded to walk up to the ship when she nearly collided with a large framed man. “Oh, I’m—”
“Easy, now,” Michael said, smiling. He set his hands on her shoulders. His smile broadened assaulting her with a sudden burst of hedonistic desires in the inner most part of her. She dared not move. Somehow she managed to find her voice. “You scared me half to death.” Her eyes slid down to his tempting lips and strong jaw and realized he’d shaved. She’d rather liked his beard, like an untamed warrior.
“Did I?” he said in a husky voice.
His eyes became a questioning glare. Then just like that, the heat between them turned to ice. “Indeed, who wouldn’t be startled by your abrupt presence?”
Narrowing his gaze, he said, “What has you frazzled, I wonder?” He looked toward Johnson & Morgan Shipping, then his eyes darted back to her again.
“I’m not frazzled. I’m perfectly fine. Shall we go?” She pulled away from his grip. “I’d like to unpack and get settled in, if you don’t mind.”
He blocked her path. “Hold on a minute. What did the boy want with you?”
“What boy?” She needed time to consider the ramification of exposing the content of the note to him. After all, twice she’d been told not to trust Michael yet she saw no evidence that he would betray her. He was intent on finding the killer just as she was, wasn’t he? She was certain of that.
“The boy you were speaking with,” Michael said again, searching her eyes. “What did he want?”
“Oh,” she said. “That boy…he was lost.”
“Lost?”
She nodded.
“I see.”
She followed his gaze to the shipping building again. Obviously, he knew something was amiss. Do whatever is necessary to keep him on task. “The boy asked me if I could spare a guinea.”
“A guinea, you say—”
“Will you stop repeating what I say,” she snapped. “Can you get on? I’d like to unpack.”
“I suppose,” Michael said. “The journey will be long, but it will give you time to prepare and reconcile any concerns you may have during the crossing.”
“I have no concerns what-so-ever,” she said and regarded him with impassive coldness. Whoever sent the note to her may still be watching at this very moment.
He studied her thoughtfully. “The pretense can stop,” he snapped. “If you don’t want to tell me about the message the boy handed you, that’s fine.”
So he saw the little boy hand her the note? She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself. She was tired of quarreling with him. If he insisted on seeing the contents, she’d hand it over—if, that is what it took to keep peace on this voyage.
After that, he made no mention of the note and quietly escorted her to her cabin. He asked her if she wanted to join him for dinner. She was certain it was out of courtesy and to keep his eyes on her. Not because he truly wanted her company, so she declined.
Her cabin was cramped with very little space to walk. There was a small wooden desk with a wooden chair and a tiny cot with sheets over a thin mattress. Honestly, after putting her things in order, there was not much to do except to think on the mission and the message the boy had delivered to her. The cabin suddenly felt stuffy. Another minute in this claustrophobic confinement and she’d surely scream. She needed air. Now.
Walking up the stairs to the main deck, the salty breeze and the sound of the ocean stilled her with uncertainty. First day and already she was feeling discomforted. This would not do. Lord Tomkin would be displeased.
A footstep behind her caught her attention. In an attempt to lose the person following her, she quickened her pace and walked toward the dining room where Michael was.
“Where do you think you are going?”
She turned toward the voice and saw Michael approach, his dark hair blowing in the wind. Her eyes landed on the column of his neck down to the V of his shirt as the collars flapped in the wind.
“I needed fresh air,” she said and attempted to smile, but failed miserably. Maybe it was the cast of orange hue splashed across the sky like spilled paint on a canvas or the way the fading light cascaded across his face that made her breath hitch. “You?”
“I was on my way to speak with the Captain.” He looked ahead and gazed at the clouds rolling in from some distance away.
“Rain, I fear,” she said, looking at the gray clouds above.
He nodded. “It isn’t safe for you to be out alone. If you wish to get fresh air, I can escort you anytime you want.”
“Thank you for the offer.”
Michael sensed they were being watched, an anxious idle soldier ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Was it Tomkin who’d sent the message to Emma? Or was it another? “What was on the note the boy delivered to you earlier today?”
She pressed her lips and observed him. “If you really want to know, I have been warned by an unknown individual not to trust you. You could for once tell me the truth. Is there any measure of validity to the warning I have been given?”
“I suppose it depends on who sent the note.”
“Then it is true about the warning?”
“I’ve been doing this a long time. I have many enemies, here at home and on foreign soil. But if you are asking me about my loyalty to the Crown and my vow to protect you with my life, you needn’t worry. I mean what I say when it comes to my honor.”
Emma fidgeted, as if she had just condemned a loyal soldier. “You understand, given our history, I had to be sure.”
Our history? I’d rather like to forget if you don’t mind. “I do see why you had to be cautious. Is that all it said?” When she nodded, he said, “Come, I’ll escort you back to your cabin.” He followed her down the narrow stairs. At the landing, they turned right, entered her cabin, and he closed the door behind them. When she faced him, he moved onto another matter at hand: The missive Tomkin had given to her at Hyde Park. “Where is the sealed letter Lord Tomkin gave you?”
“Safe,” she noted, watching him. “Why do you ask?”
“I think someone may be after the information it contains.”
She sat down on a tiny wooden chair and looked up at him. “Do you really think so?”
Michael ran his hand down his face. “I think we may have to open the missive and commit the content to memory before it falls into the wrong hands.”
“Lord Tomkin entrusted me to keep it safe and I will not break that promise.”
“What about a pistol to your head? I think you will think twice about your resolve then.”
“Is this your twisted way of convincing me to see your way?”
“It’s a valid question.” His voice sounded tired, even to his own ears. “Where did you put the sealed missive?”
“It’s safe,” she said softly and changed the subject. “You’re exhausted and you need to rest. If I promise to stay put, will you at least rest a bit? We can discuss whatever you wish after you have rested.”
He sat down on the cot, his elbows on his knees. He sighed in frustration, ignoring her comment. “Don’t you find it odd that we are kept in the dark about this mission; that we are ordered to travel halfway around the world to deliver a sealed letter?”
“Lord Tomkin would not send us on a fool’s errand. He has a reason for everything he does, you of all people should know that.”
“Yes, but what is that bloody hell reason?”
She fisted her hands. “You realize what you are saying? Accusing the Home Secretary of England of being involved in some sinister plot?”
“Geoffrey was also a highly decorated soldier who served his countrymen well, and you had the gumption to accuse him of high treason.” He saw the resentment and anger in her eyes. “I am merely stating the obtuse nature of this mission. I’m here to protect you, whatever it takes.” Emma said nothing to him, so he continued. “But I need to minimize the liability. I cannot protect you if I am worrying about the damn missive.”
Emma knew Michael had a point and she sensed his growing frustration. He was right, the safest way for them was to commit the contents of the message to memory. Making up her mind, she stood. “Turn around.”
“What?” Michael frowned. “Why?”
“Just turn around,” she said, gesturing him to do so.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” He stood up and grudgingly obeyed her and faced the wall.
Making certain Michael wasn’t peeking, Emma reached into her bodice and pulled out the small sealed missive Lord Tomkin gave her.
“Are you finished?” Michael asked, still facing the wall.
“Yes,” she said. “You may turn around.”
Michael was soon by her side. Emma’s heart thumped harder and faster as she broke the official Home Secretary’s seal and slowly unfolded the letter:
Blank. Not a drop of ink on the white parchment. She shook her head. “I don’t understand? What does this mean?”
“Bloody hell,” he blurted out. “I should have known.”
“You should have known what?” Emma said impatiently. “What does this mean?” Emma watched Michael’s expression morph. Just then a knock on the door alerted them. Michael put his forefinger against his lips. “Shhh…,” then waited a few more seconds.
“Miss?” Came a man’s voice outside the door. “The Captain has requested your presence at dinner.”
She said nothing. Michael gestured for her to respond.
“Thank you,” she said out loud. Without warning, the cabin door slammed open and knocked Michael back causing him to stumble. The parchment dropped on the floor. When she reached down to retrieve it the hatchet-faced cull pointed his pistol at her.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were ye.” Their captor waved his pistol for her to join Michael.
“Who are you? What do you want with us?” Emma asked.
“You,” the gunman said to Michael. “I’m not about to drag your body across the deck, so if you don’t want me shootin’ ye here and now, I suggest ye do as I say.”
A strange feeling it was, looking at the barrel of a gun pointed at them. Michael, on the other hand, didn’t seem to flinch at the thug’s threat.
“If we are to die,” Michael said walking out of the cabin, Emma trailing behind him, “mind answering some questions?”
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because I already know the man who hired you.”
Did Michael really know who hired the gunman? Or was he simply trying to stall for time, Emma thought.
“Wot do I care who hired me, as long as I get paid.”
“I bet he didn’t pay you in full. He’d promise to give you the rest once you deliver the body, correct?”
“Shut the bloody hell up.”
“Give me the name of your employer and I will pay you double what he promised you.”
There was silence for several seconds and Emma sensed a renewed hope growing in her again.
“I don’t have a fuckin’ name,” he snapped impatiently. “Everything is done by a messenger, so ye see, nothing ye say is going to save you. Move!”
“What about Geoffrey?” Emma inquired. “Were you hired to kill him as well?”
“Who the hell is Geoffrey?” the thug blurted out. “Stop yapping and keep moving.”
They came up to the upper deck and darkness engulfed them. With each step the wood beneath their feet creaked and the salty wind pricked her skin as their captor pressed them further. Looking at Michael, she could barely see his expression, but she sensed his unnerving calm. Of course, he was a trained assassin and he’d most likely been in situations far worse than this.
She saw the cull press the barrel of the pistol on Michael’s back and shove him forward. “Hurry up,” he said, his voice laced with ill-tempered impatience.
“What do you want with us?” she questioned, trying to stall again.
“I’m going to shoot yer beau and toss him over the ship,” the cull admitted. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, ye and I are goin’ to ’ave a good time together once I’m done here. Now, hurry up, I ain’t got all fuckin’ night.”
The thought of spending one second with this man sent shivers up and down her spine. From where she was, she saw the stern of the ship. There was a couple standing, looking out into the sea. Michael saw it too because he gently elbowed her.
So distraction will be his game, Emma concluded.
“Don’t even think it,” the cull hissed.
Emma saw the thug shift so that his pistol was out of view from the couple. The couple saw them approach and turned away from the sea.
“Good evening,” the gentleman said to them with a nod. Then slowly he walked off from the stern with the woman in tow.
With lightning speed, Michael swiftly stepped out of the pistol range and grabbed the barrel, yanking it from the cull. The pistol dropped to the floor, and Michael kicked it away from the cull’s reach. It happened so fast, it took several seconds for her to even realize what had just transpired. When she did, she quickly ran, the cull a few feet behind her. She reached for the weapon and picked it up.
“Don’t come any closer,” she said, pointing the pistol at the thug. The gunman instantly halted, glaring at her.
“Be careful with that, honey,” the cull said.
“You are going to answer my questions,” Michael said, joining her.
Michael took the pistol from Emma and pressed the barrel to the thug’s forehead and cocked it. “I want a name,” Michael said. “You have five seconds.”
Emma was struck by how fast he took control of the situation. Indeed, she was in capable hands: literally and metaphorically. A sigh of relief escaped her.
“Alright. Alright. Easy with that thing,” he said. “The name’s Jimmy.”
“Jimmy what?” Michael said. “Where do I find him?”
“East End but I—”
—Bang!
Emma’s heart jumped, shocked at the blaring sound of gunfire. Fearing for Michael’s safety, she saw that it wasn’t he who was shot, but the thug. In the chest. The cull went deadly still, his eyes set on the point beyond them, struggling to breathe for several seconds, then went down on his knees and fell forward. She looked down at the miller gasping for air as if he couldn’t get enough into his lungs. Then it slowly ceased. She exhaled, unbeknownst to her that she was even holding her breath.
Michael looked in the direction of the where the pistol was fired. Then he grabbed her by the arm and forced her to follow him down the stairs to the lower deck. Before she had a chance to question him, he shoved her inside and slammed her cabin door shut, leaving her alone.
With a sigh, she walked to her bed and sat down, hooking her unruly hair behind her ear. From the periphery of her vision, she saw the gunman’s blood on the bodice of her dress and she paled.
The shooter, whoever he was, disappeared into the shadows like a damned ghost. Michael looked about his surroundings, checking each passerby and watching for suspicious movements as sailors and curious onlookers approached the body. By now, any one of the sailors clamoring about the scene of the crime could be the one. Michael scanned the crew looking for telling signs of fear on any one of them without luck.
The only option, for now, was to go back to the cabin and figure out their next plan. Making certain not to get noticed, he slipped past the crowd and walked down the stairs to the lower deck where Emma’s cabin was located. He walked in and saw Emma sitting solemnly by the bed like a frightened child, her dress stained in blood.
Michael went to her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded and stood to join him. “I will be fine,” she said. “Were you able to get a good look at the shooter?”
He shook his head. “I fear he’s far gone.”
“This mission is getting more precarious by the minute.” She paced the small cabin.
Michael raked his fingers through his hair. “The mission’s been compromised. We need to abort.”
She halted, looking at him. “Abort? Is that really necessary?”
“Until we understand just what we’ve got ourselves into, we must abort. Your safety is my first priority.” With Emma by his side and an enemy on their tail, protecting her was going to be significantly more difficult than he had originally planned.
God, help him. Let this gut feeling about the mission be nothing more than his reluctance to be hitched to a woman who cajoled and lied to him.