Till Dawn Tames the Night Page 3

  "He seems quite mysterious," Aurora commented while fiddling with the ribbons of her bonnet. She longed to take her bonnet off, but they surely would be sailing soon and she would have to return to the deck.

  "I must say he is quite mysterious, quite the romantic figure, I hear. You see, my dear," Mrs. Lindstrom leaned forward as if she were about to tell a wicked piece of gossip, "another reason passage on the Seabravery is so dear is because this ship has never been plundered. Not by a pirate or privateer. Apparently there's something absolutely dastardly about this owner's reputation that has kept even the worst sort of ruffian from bothering it."

  "Is that so?" Aurora asked in a hushed voice.

  "Quite. I heard it from my son-in-law, and he knows everything. Absolutely everything. That's why he got me on this ship. He felt it would be the safest passage."

  "Are you going home, then? Have you a house in St. George's?" Aurora anxiously fingered her locket. She was glad to change the subject. This trip had always seemed a bit too wonderful to be true, and she didn't want any­thing to spoil that impression. For some reason, the talk about the ship's owner made her vaguely uncomfortable.

  "Yes! I've been gone six months, and though I love my grandchildren considerably, I cannot wait to see my friends. We've got quite a little group of ladies in town— oh, I wish you were not going on to Jamaica! Mrs. Ran­som has a young daughter just about your age . . . what are you, my dear? About nineteen?"

  She hesitated. She always loathed that question. "Yes, nineteen," she said too hastily.

  "That's superb. Julia Ransom is twenty now. You two would be the best of friends!"

  Aurora was once more taken aback by Mrs. Lind­strom's forthrightness. The woman was quite casual in including her within her social circle. It was as if the woman forgot to whom she was speaking. Aurora had rarely had any contact with the upper classes, but every now and again a wealthy uncle or cousin would deposit his undesirable orphaned relatives at the Home. Those guardians of any consequence always made it pointedly clear that she and Mrs. Bluefield were not their equals. But not the remarkable Mrs. Lindstrom.

  "More chocolate, Miss Dayne?" Mrs. Lindstrom waved her hand in the direction of the pot.

  Aurora shook her head. "Please call me Aurora, won't you?" She gave the widow a quiet little smile. She felt so relieved that she'd met her. The voyage would surely not be so terrifying while Mrs. Lindstrom was aboard.

  "I know we're to be great friends." The matron seemed delighted at her offer. She patted her hand. "And you must call me Flossie. That was Mr. Lindstrom's nick­name for me."

  "How dear you must have been to him."

  The matron smiled a sad smile of remembrance, but then she promptly brightened. "Now, Aurora, surely Captain Corbeil is ready to sail, so why don't we see what's going on up top?"

  Aurora nodded and clutched her gloves. "Something should be happening by now. We must be hours behind schedule."

  "Shall we go up and see if this vastly mysterious owner has arrived?" Mrs. Lindstrom brazenly winked. "Oh, I do hope he dines with us and not in his cabin. How ut­terly dull the voyage would be then!"

  The matron straightened her bonnet and gathered her pagoda-shaped parasol. As Aurora watched, she was cer­tain she had never met anyone like Flossie Lindstrom. When the matron sailed out of her cabin, appearing like a huge black ship bearing down on the less loquacious as if they were merely flatboats, Aurora was awestruck. She simply couldn't imagine anything being dull with her around.

  The sun set behind the Tower and still the Seabravery had yet to leave its mooring. From the quarterdeck Au­rora watched the sparks of exploding firecrackers on the docks heralding Midsummer Eve. Mrs. Lindstrom had retired to her cabin long ago, and Aurora was left to pace the decks, sure that they would not leave before dawn, yet still anxiously waiting for . . . something.

  As she looked out, London's sooty nighttime gloom was chased away by the many orange bonfires lit in the streets. "Huzza!" she heard men shout gleefully. Both the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Archbishop of York had tried to impress upon their flock that it was the festi­val of John the Baptist they were celebrating. They had instructed them that church was the place for them on this eve.

  Aurora smiled. It had certainly done no good. People continued to build their fires in the streets, eager to cele­brate the summer solstice. Even now she could see through the narrow cobbled streets people dancing in pa­gan silhouette around the brilliant fires.

  Dreamily, she rested her elbows on the railing. Tonight it seemed as if civilization had never come to England. The bonfires were the Druid Baal fires of centuries ago and Midsummer rites abounded. Hempseed was being sowed in the churchyard, and unmarried girls were tak­ing their pincushions and hanging them up for the night in their stockings in hopes that that would bring them a glimpse of their future husbands. Caught up in the excite­ment, Aurora blithely wondered if she had brought a pin­cushion on board. She laughed at herself for being so superstitious.

  On the docks she heard the snapping of more firecrack­ers. Boys cheered and horses shied. The commotion dis­tracted Aurora, and she didn't see the wagons pull up to the ship's gangway until they were unloading.

  At first she thought the owner had finally arrived, but it seemed unlikely that his omnipotent presence would appear in a common wagon. Captain Corbeil came to the main deck and supervised. She watched as costly silk prayer rugs from Persia were heaved aboard. Mahogany tables with elaborate caryatid legs were hoisted up also. At one point four men carried aboard a black uphol­stered sofa sporting legs carved to look like gilded dol­phins. It was clear even to Aurora that all the furnishings were the finest specimens of current taste. And it was clear that they were being brought aboard to appoint one cabin. One very large cabin. Most obviously the owner's cabin.

  Aurora looked past a man bearing a bronze urn and found the captain standing idly by the railing. From be­low, she could hear the pounding of hammers and the murmurs of male voices as workers nailed the furniture into the cabin to make it immobile for the voyage. Added to the celebrating on the docks, the cacophony was deaf­ening. There was certainly no retiring to her cabin in this din, so she remained in the shadows of the masts. Yet still the captain's gaze found her.

  The barrel-chested, grizzled captain had been the epit­ome of a gentleman all through the day. He had cheerily seen to her and Mrs. Lindstrom's every comfort; he'd been quick with a kind word or a polite joke. Yet now, caught off guard by her appearance, he looked different. It was as if she troubled him somehow, as if those worries that he'd been able to hide in the activity and brightness of daytime were now not so easily disguised in the shad­ows of night.

  As quiet as a frightened doe, she stood by while he studied her shabby pelisse. Every patch, every threadbare edge of her garment seemed to shame him and she won­dered if he pitied her. Perhaps he had somehow found out she was from the Home and felt sorry for her. But instinctively she knew that wasn't the reason. His look was too involved and too dark to be that easily explained.

  It may have been the explosive celebrating down on the docks, or even the harsh banging of the workmen belowdecks, but all at once her nerves were strung taut. She forced her worried stare away from the captain's troubled one and turned to the rail. She knew that what­ever she imagined she saw in the captain's eyes had to be a mistake. Mrs. Lindstrom's romantic imaginings were surely rubbing off on her.

  She looked out to the Thames and marveled at how her perspective had changed. In the daylight she had thought the river a sparkling gateway to adventure. Now it looked more like the river Styx winding black and fathomless into the murky fog. Feeling suddenly cold, she wrapped her pelisse around herself more tightly and bore up against the wind.

  "Miss Dayne, I'm surprised to find you up at this late hour."

  Quickly she spun around and found Captain Corbeil at her side. Gone was the troubled look, and in its stead his brown eyes held a cheerful twinkle.

  "I-I
-I was not sleepy," she stuttered like a child. Thor­oughly disgusted with her lack of composure, she took a deep breath and said, "Do forgive me, Captain. I've been nervous about the voyage, and the delay has made me only more so. In fact, I believe I'm even seeing things in my distress." She wavered a smile. Already she felt fool­ish. The captain was no keeper of great, dark secrets. He was a paternal and chivalrous man, concerned with her welfare and comfort. She should be gladdened to be in such good hands, not suspicious.

  The chuckle booming from his chest only reassured her further. He laughed and said, "I'm sure you're mis­taken, Miss Dayne. What could you be seeing? Are you displeased with the ship?"

  "No, no! The ship is quite wonderful." She gave him a sheepish smile. Whatever had possessed her to think any­thing was sinister?

  "I do apologize for the delay, however. It has been regrettable, but I promise we shall leave within the hour."

  "At night?" she inquired. "Isn't that most unusual?"

  The captain gripped the railing. She glanced down and for the first time noticed that three of his fingers were missing. The scars on his hand were massive and she wondered how that could have escaped her. Not wanting to be caught staring, she quickly looked up, but he gave her a reassuring smile. "I know the Thames, miss. We'll be out in the Channel in no time."

  "And shall we leave the owner behind after all?" she asked, trying to divert her attention from his hand. Her question seemed to startle him, even though he quickly hid his feelings behind a facade of joviality.

  "Oh no. He'll be here, Miss Dayne. That I can guaran­tee." Abruptly he excused himself to go below and check on his men.

  She was left alone for only a minute before Mrs. Lind­strom appeared. She was in a luxurious black wool pelisse that didn't quite hide the blue brocade of her dressing gown. Her bonnet was on crooked and she looked blowsy, as if she'd just been awakened from a deep sleep and hadn't had the mind to pull her appearance together.

  "There you are, my dear!" The matron called to her and waved a hand through the air. "Can you believe the racket? And at midnight!"

  "Yes, it's quite something," Aurora agreed and made for her side. She was just about to speak when a further commotion broke out on the docks. As if expecting it, the captain appeared from belowdecks, and strode to the gangway. Curious, Aurora and Mrs. Lindstrom went to the railing and peered down at the dock.

  Aurora had never seen such dark splendor. Below was a black japanned coach pulled by eight shiny black steeds. Its presence seemed to stamp out everything else as unimportant. Even the Midsummer revelry on Queen­hithe seemed to hush and the pounding cease beneath their feet. The harness fittings were gold and a thin gold edging outlined the carriage, but there were no crests on the doors to identify the rider. Ominous was the only word for the vehicle, yet even that word was weak when it came to describing the man who appeared from inside it.

  "My God . . ."

  The matron gasped from the delicious horror of it all. Aurora felt Mrs. Lindstrom's hand take hold of her arm and though she wanted to comfort the older woman, somehow she found she hadn't the fortitude she thought she had. When she tried to speak, her voice would not come. As if captured by the man who was making his way onto the ship, her mouth would not form words and her gaze would not leave him.

  He was tall—several inches taller than the captain, who was a tall man himself—yet the hint of barely re­strained violence in this man made him appear towering. He wore a fashionable black carrick, his coat sporting no fewer than nine capes. Beneath this Aurora could see a white batiste shirt and trousers made out of black super­fine. From just his clothes, she would have guessed that the man conducted his life well within the confines dic­tated by society, but when she looked further, Aurora sensed there was very little that confined this man.

  In truth, he flaunted fashion, and not with just the glossed-over ferociousness of his manner. He wore his hair almost down to his shoulder blades, tying the unruly black coils into a queue at his neck, a style unheard of for nearly twenty-five years. And a tiny silver hoop pierced his left earlobe, giving him an unspeakably wicked look, so that when all the parts were put together, there seemed only one way to describe him.

  "He's a pirate!" Mrs. Lindstrom gasped, tightening her hold on Aurora's arm. Aurora wanted to soothe her, but there was no way to deny what she said when, in fact, she'd been thinking exactly the same thing.

  From the shadows of the quarterdeck, they watched the man step onto the Seabravery. Captain Corbeil went to greet him, and it was clear they were well acquainted. Now it was obvious that the terrifying man was the owner for whom they had been waiting.

  In one lucid moment Aurora was sure they were attrib­uting too many sinister overtones to this man's presence. But then, as if to point her out, Captain Corbeil's gaze slid unwillingly to her figure.

  And the owner's gaze followed.

  Even though he was on the main deck below, the man's overpowering presence captured her. As if by spell, he forced her unwilling gaze to meet his own, and Aurora was shocked by his eyes: so startlingly beautiful, so startlingly cold. He bestowed barely a glance upon her, but in that time his gaze was so utterly thorough she felt as if even her soul were under his scrutiny. He had such a tight hold on her that even when the moment passed and he had turned back to the captain, she couldn't tear her gaze away. Nor escape from the dread that was beginning to seep into her very bones.

  "Oh, what excitement! What exquisite terror!" she heard Mrs. Lindstrom whisper to her. "In all my days! Aurora! That man is a pirate! A pirate! Oh, we're cer­tainly in for an adventure now!"

  Aurora stared at her. In dismay, she found her hand clinging to Mrs. Lindstrom's arm quite as tightly as the matron's clung to her own. Looking down, she watched the owner disappear belowdecks. Rationally, she had no reason to think anything wrong, but still she couldn't shake the feeling that something was happening. And as mad as it sounded, she couldn't dispel the frightening thought that it concerned her.

  In one swell of panic, she released Mrs. Lindstrom's arm. Guided by instinct alone, she walked to the gang­way and had every intention of leaving the ship, even if it meant crawling back to the Home with her pride on her sleeve. But at once she heard the clicking of the capstan and the heavy fall of water rushing off the weighed an­chor. To her utter dismay, the gangplank had already been lifted, and there was nothing below her but the black glittering waters of the Thames. Appalled, she turned to Mrs. Lindstrom. The widow's face mirrored her own. In desperation Aurora's eyes wildly scanned the decks for escape, but, like it or not, there was no going back now.

  Her adventure had begun.

  Chapter Two

  "We've got her."

  With that statement, Vashon tossed off his carrick and flung it onto the dolphin-legged settee. Kicking a chair out from under a table, he turned the chair around and sat down, his hands gripping its back.

  "I think she's really quite a nice little maiden, Vashon. I hope you'll handle her with care. I don't see it to our advantage to frighten her now." Isaac Corbeil took off his gold-embellished captain's cap and rubbed his balding pate.

  "How am I going to frighten her?" Vashon smiled a rare and fleeting smile. His teeth gleamed a wicked white against his evening growth of beard, and for a quick, elusive moment, he looked almost happy.

  The captain sighed. "Good God, but have we done some terrible deed, Vashon? I mean, this girl's not some easy-virtued wench from La Tortue that we can haul away without so much as a by-your-leave."

  "Don't be absurd. This is the best thing that's ever happened to the chit." Vashon released a mirthless laugh. "She's better off with us than at that rotten almshouse, by half."

  "Perhaps, but her complexion certainly lost that pretty apricot glow when she set eyes on you."

  "She'll hold up." Vashon's mouth twisted sarcastically. "Too, we may be underestimating her abilities to take care of herself. After all, she took one glance at me and looked ready to jump overboard. S
o at least she's a woman of action."

  Isaac chuckled and shook his head. "Yes, I suppose she is."

  "Besides, if you're worried about me, I'll have you know I'm certainly not in the habit of taking my pleasure with stiff, proper little virgins, fresh-faced from the or­phanage."

  With that statement, the captain sobered. "Nonethe­less, Vashon, when you look beneath this girl's timid de­meanor and worn clothing, you might just find yourself caught unawares. I did. Aurora Dayne's certainly not like that horse-faced Gideon woman we took on board today."

  Vashon gave him a jaded stare. "Why would I even look at that baggage? The girl's a shabby little prig. I've seen finer feathers on a sparrow."

  "Yes, but it's difficult to notice her garments once she's captivated you with that face. Already she's garnered the attention of the seamen. Her bonnet blew off in the breeze this afternoon. That sorry lot was almost dumbstruck when she turned and smiled at them before righting it again."

  Vashon's eyes suddenly flashed. "She's our only hope of finding the Star of Aran. So I hope you'll see to it that they won't be bothering her. Otherwise, I'll see to it they won't . . . permanently."

  "Ah, my good man!" Isaac laughed. "That really won't be necessary! We do need some crew to sail the ship!"

  Vashon shot him a black look. Then his humor re­turned. A dark smile tugged the corner of his lips. "But I'll admit one thing about the girl. I thought spinsters who ran orphanages were supposed to be warty little hags with thin lips and even thinner figures. Now why does our Miss Dayne not fit that description?"

  "Perhaps for the same reason that most think pirates who've made their fortune plundering ships are scurvy, toothless villains with the skull and crossbones hoisted on their masts—not the Union Jack." Smugly Isaac crossed his arms.

  Vashon finally smiled altogether. "I suppose you're re­ferring to me?"

  "Who else?"

  "Well, then, let me get out my eye patch. At least that should give that old Widow Lindstrom a thrill."