Sea of Fire (7 page)

“Now ye’re sure Charlotte’s servants will be at home? Ye won’t be alone?”

“I’ll be fine. Good-bye.” Elizabeth opened the heavy front door and stepped outside.

Hannah waved to Alf, who waited for Elizabeth on the street, and gave the door a firm tug closed behind her.

Elizabeth waited a few moments to be certain Hannah wouldn’t poke her head out the door. Satisfied it was safe to retrieve her trunk, she glanced around the front of the town house. The trunk was gone. She hurried to the street where Alf waited.

“Did you see anyone take the trunk I set out front here?” she asked the driver.

Alf stepped away from where he had been leaning against the carriage. “Aye. ‘Tis my doin’. I thought ye would want it inside with you.”

“You gave me a fright,” Elizabeth said with relief. “I worried it was stolen. Thank you. It was thoughtful of you to see to it.”

Alf helped her into the vehicle, and they soon headed towards Charlotte’s. At Charlotte’s, she’d send Alf home and walk the few short blocks to White’s Inn.

Fifteen minutes later, she stood in front of Charlotte’s home. Not until she watched Alf drive off down the street, did she relax somewhat. God in heaven. She’d made it, undetected by Hannah.

She raced to the inn and rushed upstairs to the room she had secured earlier. Hurriedly, she changed into the friar’s robe. She twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her head and yanked the hood of the robe down over her face. Roderick may have thought a lady an unlikely suspect, but a lady was definitely an attraction traveling alone, especially at dark. He hadn’t told her how to get the counterfeit coins to a Captain Desmond aboard the
Aurora,
a merchant ship docked in Dublin Bay. He simply gave her the time and ordered her to deliver them.

Everything would go smoothly. There was no reason for anyone to be suspicious of her. She’d not allow it. Her father’s life was at stake here.

In movements reflecting that of a somber friar, she descended the stairs to the first floor of the inn and stepped outdoors. Luck was with her, for a noddy approached and she hailed it down.

“To the harbor south of the bay,” she told the driver, imitating as deep a male voice as possible.

One more critical leg in her journey, and she’d hand over her worrisome bundle and return to the inn. Roderick had told her Captain Desmond would be expecting her. She was to tell him the silver tea tray would arrive in two days. The ornate floral design was one which King George himself would admire. Captain Desmond would know it was safe for the exchange.

By the time she arrived at her destination, it was nearly midnight. She stepped down from the noddy and gave the driver the fare.

“Mind yerself and yer purse. ‘Tis not safe with the dregs from these ships,” he told her and instantly drove off.

Though it was kind of the driver to warn her, she now experienced such fear she trembled in place a few moments until an angry voice sounded behind her. She jerked around.

“Get yer arse out of here. If I see that ugly face of yers again, I’ll feed ye to the rats,” the same voice warned. Next instant, a body came flying out into the street from a nearby tavern.

She turned and fled, forgetting her role. After she distanced herself from the incident a good several blocks, she stopped to catch her breath. A seaman standing at the bow of his ship directly in front of her waved. She glanced around to see if he meant the gesture for someone else. He hadn’t She waved back.

In as deep a voice as possible, she gruffly asked, “I’m looking for the
Aurora.
Do you know which way ‘tis?”

“Aye. I’ll tell ye, but first tell me. What makes ye move so fast? ‘Tis your robe on fire, or is it what ye’ve been drinkin’?” Before she could respond, he laughed. “I’m just teasin’ with ye, I am. I never saw a friar move so quickly.”

“I’m behind schedule. Nothing more,” she quickly replied. “Please, where is the ship?”

“A couple blocks down. You’ll see it.”

“Thank you.” She hurried away.

Several seamen were standing on deck of the
Aurora
when she arrived. “I’d like to see your captain,” she called to them.

They chuckled and one said quite boldly, “He’s with a woman. Want I should interrupt?”

“Well, how long will he be?” she asked, thankful that they couldn’t see the blush she knew was on her face.

“Depends on how long it’s been. Sometimes he goes off fast.” The two laughed. One said, “We shouldn’t speak of such to a friar, now should we? In truth, could be all night. Can’t say.”

“Please. I must see him.” She was irritated. The man was supposed to be expecting her.

“Since ye’re one of them religious fellas, I guess he won’t mind. Come aboard and I’ll get him. But, ye’ll be responsible.”

A few moments later she found herself seated on a crate on deck waiting for the captain. She made every effort to keep the hood of her robe securely over her head to hide most of her face. Still, she sensed the seamen found her a bit peculiar.

A booming voice sounded below, causing her to brace herself for the captain.

“This better be important.”

She stood, and anxiously said in a deep friarly voice, “The silver tea tray will arrive in two days. The ornate floral design is one in which King George himself would admire.”

Captain Desmond gave her a critical look. She glanced away to stare at the deck.

“Follow me.”

He led her downstairs to a cabin other than his own. No sooner had they entered he said, “Where are they?”

She reached into the folds of her robe and retrieved the pouch of coins. “Here,” she said, tossing them at him.

He opened the sack and examined the contents. When a smile appeared on his face, she relaxed somewhat.

“Excellent,” he said. “And, are you really a friar?” He studied her. “Rather a trifle of a man, aren’t ye?”

“ ‘Tis no concern of yours,” she answered in her deepest voice. “You have what you want.” She opened the door to the cabin.

“Tell Roderick I’ll be in touch.”

“Aye,” she answered with much control, and calmly made her way up to the outer deck and off the ship. Finally, when she was out of sight of the
Aurora,
she raised the hem of her robe and ran until she could run no longer. Still, the late hour and the darkness frightened her. Each step she took made her ever aware of her surroundings— ever alert to the forces at work at night.

Some five blocks later, she hailed a ride and returned to the inn. It was only then that she dared to relax. Her disguise as a friar had kept her unharmed and undetected by authorities although she received many an odd look. A friar who wandered the wharf alone was not: a common sight.

Relief was only momentary for when she approached the staircase to her bedchamber, a man with a woeful voice cried out to her. “Friar, please, I need your assistance.”

She turned around and obliged the forlorn, middle-aged man. She took a seat near him before a low burning peat fire and kept her head down low.

“What grieves you so?” she asked the pock-faced man.

“I’m not long for this world,” he confessed.

“You look healthy to me. Why do you talk in such a way?” She noticed the man’s voice had a bit of a slur and surmised he had indulged in several drinks that eve already.

“I saw the red glow.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, clearly uncomprehending what a red glow had to do with death.

“ ‘Tis a seaman’s tale—an omen about the sea glowing a red fire. Anyone who sees this glow dies shortly thereafter.” The man sobbed into his hands. “I’m so afraid.”

“It’s just a tale,” she tried to assure him. “Many times sailors make up stories to keep them busy at sea. I’m sure this is one of them,” she said, not knowing what else to say to the man. She, too, was a bit superstitious, but this was a bit much to fathom.

“I’ve left a note for me wife and children. I’ve said prayers at Christ Church and made peace with the Almighty, but a few more prayers wouldn’t hurt. Would ye pray with me now?”

What else could she do except agree? For the next hour she sat with the man until she became dangerously close to dozing off and could think of nothing more to pray about for the man.

“ ‘Tis time. I must retire,” she said, at last.

“Aye,” the man agreed. “Thank you. I feel better.”

She trudged upstairs to her room. God in heaven, she thought, closed the door, and locked it behind her. Without benefit of a light, she dove into the bed, clothes and all. “Sleep, glorious sleep,” she murmured into the not-so-fresh bed linens and escaped to dreamland.

Several hours later at dawn’s first light, she was rudely awakened by a commotion outside her door. What was all the shouting about? she wondered and sat upright in bed.

“I tell you he’s dead,” were the first coherent words she heard.

Chapter Five

By the time Elizabeth could change from friar’s attire to her own gown and cloak, the commotion in the passageway had dissipated.

“I’d like to speak to the innkeeper,” she told a pretty young chambermaid who scurried her way.

“He’s with the constable and the reverend. Ye have a wait ahead of ye,” the maid informed her.

“What has happened?”

“Some gent just up and died on us. He said he would, and be God he did.” The chambermaid made the sign of the cross. “God rest his soul.”

Elizabeth nodded. “What did this man look like?”

“Like most men ‘cept his face was heavily scarred from the pox.”

“I won’t need the innkeeper after all.” Elizabeth turned and fled from the premises of White’s Inn.

Had the man she’d prayed with talked himself into his own death? Was it possible? Or, was there some mysterious force at work behind this red glow he had seen across the sea? Had it snuffed out his life? Nay. She shivered. It was not possible.

So engrossed over the news of the man’s death, she was a block from home when it first occurred to her to hail a ride. She stepped up her pace so in a short while she was in the entryway of her own town house.

Hannah no sooner appeared in the room. “I heard the door and hoped it was ye, cracker. Did ye have a good time at Charlotte’s?”

“Aye,” Elizabeth answered. Pangs of guilt washed over her. It hurt to have to lie to Hannah.

“Here. Let me take your travel bag.”

“I’ll see to it,” Elizabeth hurriedly replied. “I’m going upstairs anyway. Any word on father?” Elizabeth asked though she knew there would be none.

Hannah confirmed Elizabeth’s thoughts with a sad face and shake of the head.

Elizabeth patted Hannah’s hand. “We must be strong,” she said for Hannah’s benefit. “I’ll be in my bedchamber if you need me. I want to work on those invitations Madam Perkins asked me to script for her masquerade ball.” Elizabeth gave Hannah her cloak and retreated to her quarters.

On one side of the bedchamber’s only window was a wing chair. On the other, where light was the brightest for her calligraphy, stood her escritoire with all her quill pens and papers. She comfortably seated herself, took a scrap of parchment from one of the compartments and dipped the tip of the pen into the inkwell. With a slow, steady hand she practiced a decorative script for the lettering for
Masquerade Ball.
She practiced those two words several times before she took one of the four-by-five gilt-trimmed invitations from the stack she had previously worked. She meticulously penned the same words across the top, sprinkled some sand over the ink to dry it before she admired her work. She smiled at the invitation. Another was complete. Last week, she had worked on the contents, or vital information. All that remained was the heading. She reached for another invitation when Hannah tapped on the door.

“Mr. Roderick Godfrey is downstairs asking for ye. Will ye see him?”

Elizabeth froze in her chair. Roderick’s arrival could only mean he wanted her for another assignment. She hadn’t expected another assignment so soon. Her stomach churned. Couldn’t he have sent a message as before?

“Tell him I’ll be down shortly. Please have him wait in the parlor.”

“I’ll tell him, Bethy.”

God in heaven.
How was she going to maintain her composure while answering Roderick’s ever-beckoning call in order to keep her father alive. She was about to check her appearance in the mirror and thought better of it. What did she care how she presented herself to the toad? She inwardly smiled. Maybe if she neglected her toilette and attire, Roderick would become so appalled, he’d leave her and her father alone. Wishful thinking.

A few moments later, she greeted Roderick in the parlor with a not-so-friendly salutation. “What do you want?”

“You don’t sound happy to see me.” Roderick held his hat in his hand and seated himself before she asked him to do so. He looked the masculine version to Charlotte with his fair hair, large blue eyes, and plumpness.

Still, she stood. “Don’t get comfortable. Say what you have on your mind and leave.”

“You’re to meet me at Liffey Supply on Essex Quay. Come early. Say nine or ten tomorrow night. I don’t want you tired. You’ll draw the pattern on the dies for a metal-based shilling. What materials will you personally need? And, don’t accidentally forget to mention an item in hopes to delay the inevitable. You’ve never really seen me angry.”

She sighed. How she hated any part of this. “I’ll need a new shilling—a legal one to compare, and an eyepiece for magnification. Is there anything special you use?”

“Aye. I’ll bring the tools and whatever else you’ll need. How long do you think it will take you?”

“I can’t say until I start. The area I must work on is small compared to the space I usually have. The pattern will be life-size and a shilling is not so large.”

“I have all confidence in you, Elizabeth.”

Fear suddenly rose in her chest. If her best was not good enough then would Roderick do her father harm. “What if I can’t draw the coin as well as you hoped?”

“You’ll make a pattern better than I hoped for. You’ve worked with the more intricate lettering. This is no different. You’re far more skilled than Charlotte. She’s shown me your work.”