Page 6 of The Pirate and the Pagan
The driver touched his forelock and departed thinking she was a crafy bitch to secure the coach and horses. Still, it was a bleeding miracle she’d given him his wages!
Lil dispatched a footman for a doctor and sat down at her desk to pen a hurried note. She stroked her chin reflectively for a moment with the goose-feather quill, then in an elegant scrawl wrote:
Lady Summer St. Catherine:
Your father has suffered a critical accident. Come immediately.
“Auntie Lil”
Lady Richwood
She addressed it to Lady Summer St. Catherine of Roseland and gave orders that it was to be put on the mail coach for Plymouth immediately. Then she stared out the long window into the night-darkened streets. “Well, Lady Summer, you’ve had all the advantages of the fine upbringing I was denied. Let’s see how you cope with this fine mess. The pain and the expense can be yours; I want none of it!”
She walked slowly through the house, picked up a decanter of brandy, and thought, Funny, but I’m not really hard at all. She brushed away a tear and carried the brandy up to her brother. She knew she was in for a long vigil.
“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.”
