The Devil's Luck (The Skull & Crossbone Romances Book 1) Read online

  Hannah and her maid followed him to the foot of a gangplank which straddled the river between the quay and a galleon of middling size. Here Graves veered away and parked the cart with her things beside a larger grouping of cargo waiting on the quay.

  “These trunks will be brought to your cabin later,” he said with a wave of his arm at the collection of barrels and sacks and crates waiting to be loaded onto the ship, “once we’re underway and the crew’s finished with their other duties.”

  Without further pause to wait for them, Graves marched straight across the gangplank to the ship and Hannah had no choice but to cross after him. She found his failure to offer assistance quite rude, but the thought of taking the surgeon’s greasy hand was enough to make her hold her tongue and take her chances alone.

  Brigit followed behind, silent as ever, and the two of them stepped down onto the deck amid the controlled chaos of a crew working to prepare a ship for departure.

  “Your cabin is below,” Graves said, stating the obvious as his eyes darted among the busy crew. “I’d best get you settled. If you please?”

  Hannah cringed out of the way when the man attempted to herd her along with a hand at her waist, and she heard Brigit give an improper snort behind her that seemed to indicate the maid expected nothing less of sailors and their ilk.

  As the three of them threaded their way through the swirl of activity on the deck, she glanced about at some of the other members of the crew. A dirty, shifty lot, she decided, if there ever was one.

  He led the two of them down first one narrow flight of stairs and then another, the noise of the crew on the upper decks fading to a muffled thumping of boots as they descended into the close air of the lower levels of the ship.

  Stepping around the two women, the surgeon moved to push open a door that swung inward to a space that could have passed as a closet instead of anything designated as a passenger cabin. A comically narrow berth lined one side wall and Hannah knew right then she and the maid would have a trying time of it in their attempts to sleep there over the next several weeks.

  Graves crowded the women through the cabin’s entrance, leaving them no time to quibble about the room. “We aim to make it out on this tide,” he told the pair, “before we’re run aground on the riverbed. Every hand is at work just now, but as soon as we’re out of the harbour proper, I’ll have your things brought ‘round. Best the both of you remain below until then and out from underfoot of the crew. Once I’m able, I’ll return and … show you the lay of the ship.”

  Hannah appreciated neither his coarse language, nor the concealed humour in his tone at that last bit. The oily way he wet his cracked lips with a flicker of his tongue had her fighting not to wrinkle her nose in disgust. She would have a discreet word with the captain once they were underway. The man would be quick to weed out this sort of disrespect in his crew if he was any sort of officer at all.

  The wiry bootlace of a ship’s surgeon slunk away to whatever tasks demanded his attention, shutting the cabin door behind him and leaving Hannah with her sour-faced maid for company.

  What little she knew of ships and sailing confirmed the words of the surgeon: this would be a hectic time for the sailors if they intended to sail out on what was left of the tide. The deep channel of the Avon was infamous for its drastic variations in water level depending on the tides, and any vessel that didn’t make it out onto the open sea in time would be stranded on the riverbed until the next swelling of the waters.

  This much she knew, at the very least. Having lived in a major port city like Bristol for the greater portion of her years, Hannah expected she should know a great deal more about sea travel than she actually did. She’d consumed most of her leisure time, however, with endless study, the most of which took place in her father’s library and not in some damp, noisy harbour. She had only the barest interest in matters nautical and so had to trust to others for information about ships and docks and tides.

  Her attempts to pass the time in the tiny cabin were an exercise in frustration. Trying to engage Brigit in polite conversation earned her begrudging one-word answers, and Hannah was not sure whether the woman’s reluctance to speak came from a lack of comfort with their difference in status, or if the maid found the questions prying.

  The six or more weeks it would take The Mourning Dove to get to Boston would be a test of her patience, to be sure. There was more waiting ahead of her even now, before the ship would make it to the mouth of the Avon and out to sea. She’d need to seek out that Mrs Hadley as soon as it became convenient, she thought, if there was to be any hope of pleasant interaction on this journey. She could find out if the woman had been able to enjoy her tea.

  Having given up on chatting with Brigit, and still unable to rummage through her yet-to-be-delivered belongings to occupy her time, Hannah suffered herself to lean against the wall backing the narrow bed and drifted into a shallow sleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of the ship.

  * * * *

  When she opened her eyes, she found the maid still perched in a stiff posture at the opposite end of the berth, gaze distant with private thought. The cabin had no window, so Hannah was not able use the cast of daylight to determine how long she’d dozed. It hadn’t felt like such a long time, and yet it seemed as though that questionable ship’s surgeon should have returned by now, or at least had their luggage brought to them.

  “I think we’ve waited long enough,” she said to Brigit as she straightened the brim of her hat. “Surely we’ve made it out of the harbour by now. I’d like to go above decks and have a word with the captain, if he may be found.”

  The maid broke from whatever internal concerns held her attention to blink at Hannah as though the words she’s just said had not been in English. Hannah ignored the woman’s dull response, determined to quit the dim little room for a time.

  “Come along, Brigit,” she said. “We’ll have plenty time enough to spend in this dismal cabin over the next few weeks. Let us find out what’s become of our trunks.” Hannah was loathe to seek out the unpleasant Mr Graves again for such help, but perhaps some other member of the crew could be found to be of assistance.

  They traced the same path they’d taken backward now until they stepped into the open air and daylight of the main deck, blinking against the glare. Hannah took in the scene before her, trying to assess the best way to find who and what she sought.

  The sailors aboard this ship did not impress her as a very sophisticated lot. What had started as the occasional glance her way from the men gave over to outright leers and conspicuous whispered asides. She began to shift her weight from one leg to another with the nervous energy of a deer wanting to bolt. Barks of their grimy laughter reported from all around. She shot a sidelong glance at Brigit to see if the other woman had noticed these affronts, as well. The maid appeared indifferent, but the longer Hannah stood there, the more uncomfortable she became.

  Her father had paid good coin for her passage on this vessel. He understood her desire to avoid any ounce of delay to the beginning of her new life, and this ship was the soonest to leave for the Colonies in New England. Hannah admitted to knowing little about ships and their workings, but the quality of this crew left much to be desired, at least for what she’d imagined aboard a respectable ship such as The Mourning Dove. Their blatant disrespect toward a lady passenger was pushing the boundaries of propriety.

  She knew life at sea was dirty work, but these sailors were far filthier, their uniforms far less well kept than what she would deem reasonable for a passenger and cargo vessel.

  That last thought gave rise to a new one as she panned her gaze over the bustle of activity on the deck: she had not seen anyone else who appeared to be a passenger since she’d boarded. Every face and body seemed to belong to members of the crew. Where were the other passengers? Were they all still content to remain below decks after this amount of time? Surely some of them would want to come out to breathe some fresh air and perhaps look upon the sea.
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  As Hannah shook her head to herself in puzzlement, she noticed a man mounting a set of stairs to emerge from a doorway that led below to one of the aft decks. This man appeared to stand apart from the hustle and noisy efforts of the other sailors, and from the relative cleanliness and finer cut of his overcoat and breeches, she judged him to be the captain. No other man she’d seen aboard the ship thus far carried himself with anything that looked like breeding, as this man did, and as he was not participating in the hauling of lines or shifting of cargo, then an officer he must be.

  She watched his eyes flow across the decks and rigging, reviewing the efforts of his crew, inspecting their work as he went. When his glance passed where she stood with her maid near the gunwale, she saw him give the slightest of starts. He looked about him now, as if to confirm he was, in fact, on the correct ship, and having not found the answers he appeared to seek, locked his sights back on Hannah and Brigit and strode in their direction with a purpose.

  “Captain,” she said as he approached, inclining her head in a gesture of respect for his rank aboard the ship.

  He reached her side and looked her over in a blatant manner, and she cut a surreptitious glance at Brigit to see if the maid had witnessed his rudeness. His face appeared torn between anger and disbelief. This was hardly a greeting between a man of rank and a paying passenger of her standing, she thought to herself, and decided to tell him so.

  “I apologize that our introduction must begin this way, Captain, but I must tell you that this crew could stand to learn a thing or two about the proper way to behave around a lady.” Her words came with the chill of propriety. “Courtesy would dictate that a passenger should not be made to wait below decks indefinitely in some windowless room with no sense of how long they’re meant to stay there. My maid and I haven’t even been brought our things.”

  “What are you doing aboard my ship?” It was a hostile demand rather than polite inquiry.

  Indignity flared to life in her chest and Hannah drew herself up. “I beg your pardon? My father, Richard Symes, a Member of Parliament I might add, paid dearly for me to sail on this ship, and if it weren’t for that surgeon of yours, I wouldn’t have managed to find my way on board at all before you left with the tide. He did see us to our room, Captain, but you might see to it he’s taught to keep a civil tongue in the presence of women.”

  “My surgeon?” he repeated in irritated confusion. “That man there?” The captain pointed to the lanky man who’d met them at the quay, now helping another sailor secure some crates to the deck.

  “Yes. Doctor Graves, I believe his name was? He promised to show us about the ship and to have our luggage sent to our cabin, and that was some time ago.”

  The scowling captain looked back at Graves with a disgusted curl of his lip before returning his attention to her. He eyed her again from top to bottom in a most unacceptable manner and, by the look on his face, appeared to make a decision. Looking about him for someone or something he failed to find, he caught her upper arm in a firm grip.

  “Might I have a word with you, Madam?” he said in a gruff tone that did not sound like a request. “In private?”

  Hannah looked with wide eyes from his hand on her arm and back to the man whose demeanour had gone from offensive to unacceptable in the span of mere moments. She decided then that she would have a word with this uncouth man, and the sort of word that needn’t be shared with an audience.

  Pretending to ignore the fingers around her arm, she turned to her maid and mustered an unperturbed voice. “Brigit, if you’ll return to our room, please, to wait for our things? I’ll join you again as soon as I’ve spoken with the captain.”

  “As you wish, Ma’am.” The woman moved to obey Hannah’s words, but her usual indifference in her green eyes now softened into concern that said she wasn’t sure whether speaking with the captain alone was such a good idea.

  When her maid had disappeared again into the doorway from which they’d come, the man who still held her arm jerked Hannah’s attention back to the situation at hand.

  “Come with me,” he said, hauling her along the deck now with quick strides ignoring her exclamations of protest.

  “Captain!” She balked at him. “This is most irregular! I will not be handled like a piece of cargo! Are you hearing me?” Her heels skidding on the deck as he dragged her toward the door did little to halt his determined progress and she found herself herded with rough gestures down a short set of stairs.

  His fingers were like iron still circling her arm, and he hustled her through a low ceilinged council chamber she barely had time to look at before giving her a rude shove through a second set of doors in what she imagined must be his stateroom. He propelled her with some force a ways into the room before heading back to the double doors.

  Stepping into the doorway, he turned to look at her again with what she was certain was vexation and no little indecision. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving her in stunned silence.

  What in Heaven’s name is going on here? Her thoughts were frantic as they tried to catch up to the way she’d been shuffled off the deck by this baffling ship’s officer. Was there something she had done wrong? Had they come above decks too soon and interfered with the crew in some way? Still, how dare he handle her person in that manner!

  “Mr Till!” Hannah heard his muffled bellow from the council room outside. She stood there bewildered, no idea what to expect next or how to react. Surely some mistake had been made. What other reason could this captain possibly have to behave as he did?

  She hoped whatever he had to discuss could be handled in a reasonable amount of time. Hannah had no special love for her new maid, but she did feel guilt for having left the woman to herself with that worried look on her face.

  Before she could analyse the situation further, the doors to the stateroom burst open again, and the captain entered with another member of the crew at his heels. He closed the doors behind him and stood with his arms crossed over his chest, sizing her up for what seemed like the tenth time.

  The two men were a study in contrast, she noted, the captain being a lean, but fit, whip of a man with a figure suited for the affairs of a loftier station than that of a life at sea. Everything about him spoke of calculated precision, from the clean lines of his nose and jaw to the smooth, straight tail of his dark hair.

  The shirtless man standing next to him, however—the hollered-for Mr Till she presumed—stood half a head taller than the captain and was built as though he had done nothing but lift heavy things since he was old enough to walk. A patchwork of tattoos ran up his massive arms, over his formidable shoulders, and even curled at last over the top of his shaven skull from behind. Were this man to appear among her usual circles, his appearance would be scorned as barbaric.

  The difference in rank was clear between these two men: one dressed in a fine coat and boots, the other roughly garbed for hard physical work. Hannah wondered what possible trouble she or Brigit could have caused that would require the captain to involve a crew member with less authority than himself.

  The two men regarded her with the curiosity one would reserve for an exotic beast displayed in a menagerie and her hands began to fidget under their scrutiny.

  “Mr Till,” the captain said, breaking the silence, “Mrs Symes here was shown aboard our ship by—”

  “Collingwood.”

  He blinked at her with the frank disbelief of someone not accustomed to being interrupted.

  “Mrs Hannah Collingwood,” she said. “Symes is my maiden name.” She was ever having to remind people of that point. Once they’d heard her father’s name, they always assumed it was still hers as well.

  “Very well,” he said with a dry smirk. “Mrs Collingwood—who is apparently not a maiden any longer—was shown aboard by that new surgeon of ours.”

  “Graves?” the other man asked him, a note of confusion hovering on his tone.

  “The very same. Our Doctor Graves promised, once we were
underway, to have Mrs Collingwood’s luggage brought to the cabin she’s sharing with her maid here aboard The Mourning Dove.” The last of his words bore the sharp edge of some meaning she didn’t understand, but the imposing Mr Till rearranged his eyebrows in surprised comprehension.

  Hannah was nearly vibrating in her skin with anxiety over her inability to grasp at the unspoken meaning that had passed between the two men. She made her best effort to hold her tongue, though, as it was so often getting her into trouble.

  Wait and listen. The truth will out, after these two have finished playing games.

  “Shall I have a word with him, Captain?” Till’s voice brought to mind clouds gathering on the horizon. Hannah suspected it would be a stern word indeed, and probably the back of a hand for good measure. She couldn’t deny the surgeon likely needed such a lesson, but how could Graves have erred in his assistance in showing the two women aboard the ship?

  “You should have several,” the captain said, “but not just now.”

  The captain took a step toward the heavy table fixed to the deck in the centre of the room. With a casual grace, he went about removing some of the more dangerous accoutrements of his station and laying them on the table top: a sizable curved dagger preceded a set of pistols and, last, a cutlass whose shape was a larger mirror to the dagger. She brimmed with impatience while he took his time with the little ritual and its blatant intent to put her on edge.

  His weapons put aside, he moved around the table toward her, the soles of his boots rolling against the deck in a practised, leisurely fashion. Hannah backed up a step, and then another, as he approached, not certain yet of what was afoot here, but most sure she didn’t like the way he was prowling closer. Even with the blades and pistols out of reach behind him, the impression remained that she was in the presence of a dangerous man.