Redeeming the Rogue (14 page)

“She’ll get us to our destination in one piece,” Rafferty answered. As he and Mr. Connor had not joined them on the trip across London, she wasn’t aware they had already arrived. She spun around, surprised to discover he was a few steps behind her.

A proud glint graced his eye, perhaps because they were all about to embark on a mission to track his nemesis. He’d made no secret of his eagerness. His chin pointed to the waiting steamship. “No need to worry on that score.”

But she was worried. Whenever she’d traveled over water before, the vessel at least looked seaworthy. This one-funnel monstrosity had passed its prime decades earlier. That is if it had a prime.

“What are those orange brown spots? It looks as if the rose is starting to decay.”

He was not amused. “Rust. However, it’s only cosmetic. All the important mechanisms function.”

That was not especially reassuring. “Isn’t there another more substantial vessel we can take?”

“Not that leaves in our time parameters.”

She bit her lip. “I can’t swim,” she confessed.

“What?” he yelled as the train whistle signaled its intent to depart. He took her arm and guided her toward the metal bridge that connected the dock to the deck of their ship. “I can’t hear you.”

“I can’t swim,” she repeated, surprised that the admission was easier the second time around.

“That’s the whole point of the boat, isn’t it?” His eyes crinkled. “Lord Henderson did not ask you to swim across the ocean.”

His levity didn’t lighten her apprehension, nor did his mention of Lord Henderson. She was well aware that this was not another excursion to avoid going home.

“What if there’s a problem and the boat sinks?” she asked, hurrying to keep up with Rafferty’s stride. “It’s been known to happen.”

He laughed. Laughed! “At this latitude, the ocean is so cold that if you were tossed into the waves, it wouldn’t matter if you could swim or not.” Almost to support his words, a chill wind whipped at her face, tugging the straw brim of her hat. She clasped her shawl tighter with her free hand. They dodged a stack of laden crates. “Your breath would freeze and your arms would be numb before you could move them enough to churn water.” He directed her up a flight of metal steps that led to the connecting bridge. Aware of his heavy step behind her, she hastened her climb. “All that fabric would tangle your legs and drag you down to the sandy bottom.” She stepped aside at the top of the stairs, and he rose alongside her, a wide grin on his face. “So you see, it doesn’t matter if you can swim or not.”

The prospect of drowning froze her forward progress. Her feet refused to carry her even the short distance across the bridge.

Rafferty smiled down at her, then tugged her forward. “Don’t worry. The
Rose
won’t sink. If it will ease your anxieties, I swim like a selkie. I won’t let you drown.”

She reluctantly set a foot on the bridge. “What’s a selkie?” she asked.

“A selkie?” He raised his brow and heightened that delightful brogue in his voice. “They’re legendary creatures from Irish folktales. My mother once told me she thought I might be one. Selkies appear mortal on land but revert to seals in the ocean. They can be either a man or a woman, but a man selkie is said to be both very handsome and have great seductive powers over women.”

Arianne laughed. “And you believe you might be one of these legendary characters?”

“I suppose that remains to be seen.” He offered the support of his arm while she stepped onto the ship’s deck. “But I have managed to seduce you across that bridge and into the care of Captain Briggs.”

She looked back, surprised that she had crossed the bridge without anxiety. Rafferty introduced her to a man with wide gray burnsides who waited near the bridge opening. “I’m sure the captain can direct you to your quarters. I want to check with Phineas to make sure all the luggage was loaded correctly and that the other members of our party know the way.” He tipped his hat, then began to cross the planking.

“Mr. Rafferty?”

He turned toward her.

“Are we taking this vessel just because it’s named the
Irish Rose
?” she teased.

“No, my lady, we are not,” he replied, that proud glint returning. “We are taking this vessel because she belongs to me and sails upon my command.” He raised his gaze to the captain. “And I command this steamer will get under way as soon as possible.”

“As you wish, sir.” The captain saluted him, and Rafferty headed back ashore.

Arianne turned to the captain. “Is that true?”

“Yes.” The captain held out his arm, indicating their direction. “The Raffertys have been in the shipping business for many years. When his father died, Rafferty’s uncle kept the business afloat until the lad could take over. Those were difficult years for all concerned, but we managed. The reputation of the Raffertys keeps us afloat. There’s some that ask specifically for the
Irish Rose
to ship their goods.” The captain beamed with pride. Arianne had her doubts. Only someone who had not seen the
Irish Rose
would trust their cargo to its keeping.

“Even though he owns the
Irish Rose
, we haven’t seen much of Mr. Rafferty these past years. He must be in a hurry to arrive in America, as we’ll be traveling light.”

“Light?”

“Our cargo holds aren’t filled to capacity. We’ve got some textiles from Ireland and India, some wine and whiskey from Spain and Ireland, and of course, English mercantile, but not as much as we can hold.”

“I would think forgoing a full cargo would be expensive.” She glanced about as they progressed down a flight of steps and through narrow hallways. Though the
Irish Rose
was small by contemporary standards, with so few passengers, there should be adequate space and privacy to continue their lessons.

“It is.” The captain inserted a key into the lock on the door and twisted. “He’s in a hurry, that one.”

And Rafferty owned this? She had suspected that he was not the commoner that he claimed, but she had no idea that he was involved in anything outside of the Home Office. She remembered Mrs. Summers’s remark that several of the matrons would be interested in Mr. Rafferty for their young charges. At the time, Arianne had scoffed at the idea, but now she had to concede that Mrs. Summers was correct. Rafferty was proving to be a man of many surprises . . . pleasant surprises, she amended, remembering the spreading warmth of his touch on her back yesterday.

Opening the cabin door, she surveyed what would be her home for the next eleven days. She and Mrs. Summers would share what would be considered a second-class room on the big liners. At least the cabin’s porthole presented a view of the docklands. Given the sinking feeling in her stomach, she needed that reminder that she wasn’t beneath water.

The room was clearly meant for sleeping, as the space wasn’t sufficient for more. With that in mind, she made her way back to the top deck for the open air. Spying Eva and Mrs. Summers intently watching the dock below, Arianne glanced over the rail to see what captured their interest.

Rafferty. She smiled. She should have known. Down on one knee, he was crowded on all sides by the filthiest ragtag group of children she’d ever seen. Keeping him in her sight, Arianne made her way to join the others at the rail.

“Where did they come from?” she asked Mrs. Summers.

“I’m not sure. They just appeared,” she replied. “I don’t think I noticed children on the docks when we arrived.”

“He’s paying them,” Eva said, a combination of awe and annoyance tinging her voice. “See? He’s pressing something into their palms.” She opened her parasol to shade her face from the sun. “Word spreads quick when there’s money to be had. If he’s not careful, they’ll trample him over to get to his pockets.”

Rafferty didn’t appear to be in danger, at least not of the sort suggested by Miss St. Claire. The boys looked at him with respect, not as a wealthy mark. And he . . . he regarded them with compassion as well, almost as a family. The thought gave her pause and a different perspective on the surprising Mr. Rafferty.

 

“HERE YOU GO, LAD. HERE YOU GO.” RAFFERTY MADE his way around the group, placing a few coins in the middle of each extended hand. “Thanks for seeing me off, lads.”

“Where’re you going?”

Rafferty glanced to his right, smack into eyes too big and too worried for the tiny face surrounding them. His heart twisted. The hollows beneath the young one’s eyes spoke of hunger, the sort that even the youngest of this wealthy nation shouldn’t endure. Rafferty slipped some extra coins into the young boy’s hand, then ruffled his head. “Do you remember Phineas? The one with the rabbit?”

The boy nodded. Most of them remembered the magic show Phineas had performed for them on occasion. “Well, Phineas and I are sailing across the ocean to America.”

“Will you be coming back?” another asked.

“I always do.” Rafferty smiled. He’d left on shorter trips before, but this was different. “I just can’t tell you when that will be.”

“What’re your instructions while you’re gone?” one of the older boys asked.

“Keep your eyes and ears open and sharp, especially as it concerns Mr. Barnell. Tell Pickins”—he pointed to an older boy—“if you see something.” He turned his gaze to Pickins. “If you think it needs to go higher, tell Lord Henderson. You know where.” The boy nodded solemnly.

Rafferty looked around the circle. He’d gotten down on one knee so he could see their faces. They were good boys, loyal and trustworthy, but they knew too much of the hard side of life for such young ages. The
Irish Rose
released a steam blast, an announcement of imminent departure.

“Where’s Jamie?” Rafferty asked. The one boy who’d actually seen Barnell’s mystery lady was missing from the gathering. “Anyone seen him?”

They each shook their heads, so Rafferty gave a little extra blunt to Pickins to pass along to the missing lad. The captain waved a signal to Rafferty. With the assistance of the boys, Rafferty released the ropes tethering the
Irish Rose
to the dock, then he quickly dashed across the plank bridge moments before it was hauled aboard.

As the boys waved from the shore, Rafferty saw Jamie running toward the group. Jamie waved to Rafferty, then the lad’s face slackened a moment before he pointed toward the stern. “That’s her, Mr. Rafferty. That’s the one.”

Rafferty followed the direction of the gesture. The complete roster of the ship’s passengers lined the rail, but four women stood in the center, three known to him and the fourth a stranger. The steamer continued to put distance between the boat and the shore. Rafferty cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Which one?” to no avail. The boy continued to point, but Rafferty could not discern a differentiation. One thing was clear, though. A traitor had boarded the
Irish Rose
.

 

RAFFERTY DID NOT ATTEND DINNER THAT EVENING. Arianne told herself her disappointment stemmed from her inability to see how he interacted with the new passengers. As a British minister, he’d be expected to make new acquaintances on an ongoing basis. If he approached all strangers the same as he had with Baron Von Dieter, this would be a problem. She told herself she needed to observe and critique his methods of initiating conversation, but even she couldn’t convince herself that this was the true reason for her disappointment.

She missed him. Clean and simple. She had wanted to ask about the collection of street urchins that had surrounded him at the dock or the meaning of that one boy’s pointing gesture. She had hoped to hear the voice whose rhythms played like music to her ear.

Instead, she met their fellow passengers: Mr. Barings, a charismatic London merchant, Mr. Skylar, a shy young man returning to his home in America, and the Shulmans, a German couple excited to travel abroad.

Everyone dressed for the meal, for what else was there to do? The food was adequate, though not to her brother’s standards. She recalled Rafferty’s warning that the meals would not provide occasion to practice table etiquette. He was correct as it pertained to state dinners. Excellent table etiquette, however, was never wasted, no matter the size of the gathering.

As decided earlier, Eva was to remain Miss St. Claire until the end of the voyage so as to explain their separate rooms. Upon Arianne’s insistence, Eva’s experience as an actress was not to be mentioned.

Eva’s abilities to draw others into conversation impressed Arianne. Perhaps she would succeed as a hostess after all. While that thought should have been satisfying, it wasn’t. Arianne couldn’t explain why. Indeed the whole day and dinner had been unsettling.

“You look tired,” Mrs. Summers said when they returned to their tiny cabin. “Perhaps you’d like to retire early this evening? It has been a tiring day.”

Arianne noticed Mrs. Summers had left her knitting out. It would be difficult for her to pursue that activity with the lamps extinguished for sleep.

“I think I’d prefer to take a moonlight stroll,” Arianne replied. “Walking might help settle my stomach and the fresh air clear my head.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” Mrs. Summers had already swung a shawl over her shoulders.

“No. I should be fine,” Arianne said, her hand on the door handle. “I won’t be long.”

 

RAFFERTY LEANED OVER THE RAIL, LETTING THE WIND cool his coal-streaked face and billow his unbuttoned shirt like a sail behind him. His collar, waistcoat, and jacket lay in a rumpled heap at his feet. The crescent moon, sometimes obscured by racing clouds, graced the swell of the black waves with a thin white crest, visible one moment, then gone the next.

Throughout the earlier daylight, they had traveled the channel between England and France. Once they had passed the long arm of Cornwall, Rafferty knew his beloved Ireland would lie directly north. Out of his line of sight, but there nonetheless. The
Irish Rose
would continue across the Atlantic to America’s eastern shore, carrying him away from his home and all things familiar—except for the killer, the one he hunted. Thoughts of Toomey had plagued him every waking day for so many years, he’d become more familiar to Rafferty than his memories of Ireland. Soon Rafferty would put those tumultuous thoughts to rest.