Chapter 6.
“Death and damnation!” swore Cat as she read the note from her aunt. “Wouldn’t you just know it? The first money we’ve ever had and now I have to waste it traveling up to London. It’s just so damned typical of him!”
“Did something happen to Rancid?” asked Spider.
“This letter is from Auntie Lil—his sister. Apparently he’s had an accident and wants me immediately.”
“He’s most likely been wounded in a duel by an outraged husband he’s been clapping horns on.”
“What woman would look at him? He’s never sober these days. More likely he’s been caught cheating at cards. Now that he needs a bloody nurse, I’m the candidate.”
“It’s over two hundred miles to London. How long will it take to ride that far?” he asked doubtfully.
“I hate the thought of ruining Ebony on such a journey. Hell and fury, Rancid isn’t worth it. Why don’t we go down into Falmouth and see if someone’s sailing to Portsmouth today? I can take the London coach from there.”
Cat was worried to death to leave Spider on his own, but did not dare to mention it. Her brother wondered wildly how he could let Cat go to such a far-off, wicked city but knew better than to suggest she needed an escort.
Knowing how bitter cold it could be aboard ship, she donned a wool pea jacket and pulled a knitted cap over her tightly braided hair, and they set off at a brisk pace for Falmouth. A casual observer would have taken them for brothers.
It was only a mile and a half to Falmouth’s waterfront taverns, and Cat strolled in as nonchalantly as Spider did and struck up a conversation with the seamen drinking there. She paid for two half-pints of ale and began to make casual inquiries. There were quite a few vessels anchored just beyond the seawall, and by asking the right questions and being observant, they soon learned one was captained by an American. Cat joined him at his table and leaned back until her chair was balanced on its two back legs.
“Carolinas?” she asked lazily.
“Virginia,” answered the blond giant.
“I expect you’ve blown off course.”
“Could be,” he answered noncommittally.
“I expect you’re headed for Portsmouth or London.”
“Could be,” he repeated.
“What cargo?” she asked casually.
“Fish!” he said very deliberately.
Her heart lifted, but she dared not let a grin escape. She finished her ale, wiped her sleeve across her mouth, and eased the chair back onto its four legs.
Her eyes slid over to Spider and as if on cue he said, “I suppose you want to unload your cargo before you run up the Channel?”
The American nodded. “Ship’ll run up the Channel a helluva lot faster with an empty hold.”
“Suppose,” said Cat, “just suppose I supplied storage space for these barrels of fish. That way you could get your ship through London customs and then find a high-paying customer for your cargo. ’Course you’d have to ship it overland, but you could pass that cost on to your buyer.”
While the American skipper was making up his mind about trusting them, Spider said innocently, “I hope your fish won’t spoil. I hope it’s well salted.”
“What do you get out of this?” the American asked bluntly.
“As soon as we stow the cargo, you take me on an overnight run up the Channel to Portsmouth.” The bargain was struck and the American went to gather his crew.
Cat said to Spider, “While I’m gone I want you to take the tobacco out of those barrels and conceal it. Take a bit of that money we’ve got and buy some cheap fish to replace it.
“Say no more.” Spider winked.
“When they come for their ‘fish,’ there won’t be a bloody thing they can do about it,” she said, her eyes sparkling with the mere idea of the sting.
When they got into the longboat with the crew to row out to the ship, Cat ran alarmed eyes over the sailors. They were a mighty rough-looking crew, no better than criminals. A shiver of fear ran up her back and she pulled her woolen hat down low and turned up her collar. When she got the opportunity to speak to Spider, she whispered, “When we get to the caverns, go upstairs and get a pair of Rancid’s pistols; one for each of us.”
He nodded quickly in full agreement. The unloading, however, went off without incident. There were only forty barrels to unload and Cat surmised they must have already smuggled most of their cargo into France. The wind changed to a strong westerly and Cat gave Spider a brief wave. She could not afford a tender farewell in front of the American, but she did not need to put into words that she would be back as quickly as she could.
Aboard the Seagull on the upper deck she made herself comfortable on a coil of rope with her back against the taffrail. Cat loved the sea. It filled her with excitement. There was nothing quite so wild—untamed—unpredictable. The sea would never allow anything or anyone to control it. It was never safe, always dangerous, and her blood sang with a feeling of “oneness” and total freedom.
In the early hours, somewhere between midnight and dawn, Randal St. Catherine roused his sister where she sat napping in the chair beside his bed.
“The doctor … said I was finished … didn’t he?” he gasped.
Lil bent close to catch his words. The candles clearly showed his dreadful gray pallor and eyes already beginning to film over. Lil reached for the glass and decanter. “Have some brandy, Randal, you were always particularly partial to good brandy.”
He grasped the decanter in a feeble hand and shook his head. “Book … papers … hidden … under seat.” He coughed and choked, then managed to say, “Summer … she’ll know … black ma …”
“Black man?” Lil puzzled. “You mean you have a book hidden under the seat in your carriage and you want me to see that your daughter Summer gets it? I’d better go and see if it’s still there.” She took one of the candles and hurried from the room. She knew the book must contain some valuable information or he wouldn’t have it concealed. At first she couldn’t find it, then to her relief her hand closed on a sealed paper and a small, leather-bound volume tucked at the back, and she pulled them out and opened up the book. She held the candle close to see what was written on the pages, but it told her nothing. She recognized the names of places in Cornwall; there were dates and names and what might be ship’s names but that was all. She hurried back upstairs with a dozen questions on her lips, but she saw immediately she would never know the answers. Randal had deliberately drained the decanter and the brandy had killed him.