Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (28 page)

She started
walking again, and this time her steps were sure and purposeful. She needed to
find the stairs that led below decks. Up ahead she spotted a man dressed in a
red velvet coat, violet hat and dark green trousers leap through a hole in the
ground. Only the captain could be so finely dressed.

She inched
her way closer to the hole. Standing on the tip of her toes she leaned forward
trying to see what lay below. She could see nothing.

She could
see nothing because firstly she was too far away from the hole. So far away, in
fact, that even if she lay prostrate on the ground, she still wouldn’t be able
to see it. And her upper body’s eighty degree tilt was not helping matters
except to give her calf a cramp. Secondly, she couldn’t see down the hole
because her eyes were squeezed shut. A sudden fright had seized hold of her
limbs.

She used
her finger tips to prise open her lids.

She forced
her form to unbend and straighten.

She pushed
her legs to move forward until she reached the very edge of the hole. Before
her courage failed her she closed her eyes and jumped.

She landed
in what looked like a black pit, but once her eyes adjusted, she realised it
was a corridor. A dying candle lying on a side table tinted everything in
shades of orange and dark brown.

The muffled
sounds of someone speaking reached her ears. She clutched the pistol with both
hands and hugging it to her chest made her way towards the sound. It came from
a partially open door on the right side of the corridor. She plastered her back
to the wall next to the door and inched her ear closer to the crack. The voices
became louder.

“Hand him
over now,” someone requested in a half-hearted voice that sounded like the
duke.

“You don’t
seem to want him very much,” drawled a bored stranger’s voice.

“He is a
pest, Rover,” the duke replied.

“Then let
me keep him.”

“I would,
but my wife and her sister are awfully fond of him.”

“Why?”

“I ask
myself that question every single day.”

“I would
like to keep him for a while and torture him. Surely you will enjoy that? You
sound like you would. You can watch.”

“No, thank
you. I would rather wait here until you are finished with him. How long do you
think the torture will take? You won’t kill him afterwards, will you?”

“I haven’t
made up my mind yet. You see, the fellow stole my mother’s recipe and my mother
discovered the theft. She has not spoken to me since. The moment we docked
here, she stormed off to visit her sister who lives in this town. When she
returns, I will produce the thief in front of her and ask her what she would
like to do with him. She may want to dine with his head decorating the desert
table, who knows. I can make no promises.”

“You are
extremely well spoken—”

“Flattery
shall not work,” the Black Rover replied sharply.

“My men
have surrounded this ship. If I don’t return soon, they will come aboard and
rescue not only Elmer but also take half your wealth.”

“The ship
has no treasures. We buried it. You are welcome to biscuits crawling with
weevils.”

“My men
will kill you,” the duke threatened.

“By the
time we spot them approaching the ship, I would have shot you through the heart
and tossed you overboard effectively turning you into flotsam. Thereafter, I
will set sail for calmer waters.”

“I don’t
like you.”

“I already
told you flattery will get you nowhere.”

Celine
closed her eyes in annoyance. The duke and the Black Rover were now discussing
how they would kill each other. They seemed to be fighting over who could give
the other a more gruesome death.

“My men
will feed you to bloodthirsty flesh tearing fish,” the pirate was telling the
duke nonchalantly.

“My men
will tie your wrists and ankles to iron chains and then using the latest
torture instrument pull your limbs apart,” the duke responded.

Celine
shook her head in disgust and walked away. It seemed she would have to save
George and come back for the duke later.

She tiptoed
her way down the corridor feeling a touch braver knowing that the Black Rover
was busy arguing with the duke and most of the men were singing pirate songs up
at the top. Now all she had to do was find the stairs that led to the bottom of
the ship.

She found
the stairs easily enough. It was right at the end of the corridor.

She crept
down the stairs wrinkling her nose as she went lower and lower into the belly
of the ship. The fresh marine scent gave way to a damp musty smell, mingled
with something that smelled like bad cheese and … She sniffed cautiously … a
bit of rotten eggs, a hint of wet dogs, with a liberal sprinkling of freshly
plucked roses.

She reached
the bottom rung, the odour now strong enough to have wriggled its way into her
mouth. With her nose and mouth scrunched up in revulsion, she stepped into the
bilge.

This part
of the ship was clearly kept for creatures no better than water rats. A single
candle up ahead threw a measly glow illuminating a lump of dirty wood here, a
broken bottle there and nothing much else.

She moved
in further, the light grew brighter and she found doors on either side of the
long passageway. George was certain to be in one of the rooms here.

She hung
outside a couple of doors hoping for a sound or a hint as to what lay inside.
Learning nothing she started opening the doors.

The first
few rooms turned out to be no more than dark holes with a small chair and a
cot. Still others were completely empty. She finally found one that contained a
sleeping person. The violent red hair peeking out from beneath the sheets had
her quickly back away. That was certainly not George.

The room
right next to the carrot top contained yet another person. This one was awake.
He looked like a potbellied grandfather, his smile angelic and his eyes
inviting her to come closer.

She opened
the door wider letting the candle light illuminate the room further.

He was a
prisoner she realised. He was tied to a chair. An ally she immediately thought
brightening. He looked like a kindly old man. He would be sure to help.

Smiling she
moved closer to him, her hands inching towards the ropes that tied his feet
together. She would free him and he would return the favour by helping her find
George.

Someone
growled.

She jumped
in fright and turned around to look behind her.

Someone
barked.

In horror
she turned back towards the kindly old man.

“Did you
just growl and bark?” she asked him nervously.

He beamed
at her and asked her if she was a parrot.

A parrot
she queried?

He gave two
shorts barks followed by a short nod.

She smiled
and nodded back and continued to smile and nod until she had inched her way out
of the room.

In the
passageway she waited a moment for her heart to stop racing. The loony prisoner
had given her a dreadful fright.

Footsteps sounded
behind her setting her heart racing once again.

She waited
poised and quivering trying to ascertain if the footsteps were coming towards
her or moving away.

The steps
grew louder.

In another
moment whoever it was would be upon her, and then she would be caught,
imprisoned and locked in one of these rooms forever. Years later when her face
had wrinkled and hair gone grey, she too would bark and perhaps crow at people
and ask them if they were egg laying hens.

She shook
her head dispelling the fog and dived sideways. With an inward squeak, she
landed inside yet another room. Her shoulder complained as it crashed into the
hard wooden floor, and her foot moved instinctively to close the door.

She lay
stunned for a moment, her heart in her mouth.

The footsteps
came to a halt outside the door.

She prayed
that whoever it was had not heard her hit the floor.

The sound
of shuffling feet reached her … Was he trying to open the door?

She gripped
the pistol and aimed it towards the door.

“Celine?” a
voice whispered behind her.

Biting down
a scream she spun around … and found a cheerful George tied to a chair in the
corner.

Her eyes
widened and she lowered the pistol. “George,” she mouthed putting a finger to
her lips and pointing at the door.

He nodded
in understanding.

They waited
for a few more terrifying moments until the footsteps finally receded.

When all
was quiet outside, she stuck the pistol between her breasts and pounced on
George showering him with kisses. She was still too unnerved to speak.

“I am learning
to love being the damsel in distress,” George remarked.

The sound
of his voice brought her back to the present. Her face suffused in a blush, she
mumbled, “I should untie you.”

“Not at
all. Let me stay tied up for a touch longer. I don’t think I have enjoyed being
rescued quite so much before. No, no, truly don’t untie me. A few more kisses
and then you can do with me what you like.”

“Oh, hush,”
Celine said, her hands busy tugging on the ropes to free him.

“Celine?”

“Hmm.”

“Why are
you drenched?”

“I was
swimming.”

“You swam?
To come and save me?”

“No, for
leisure. I was paddling in a pond with swans and ducks,” she said in
frustration. Unknotting the rope was turning out to be the hardest task of all.

“You are
afraid of water.”

“I am more
afraid of losing you,” she said with a catch in her throat.

“Celine?”

“What?” she
asked in annoyance. If only he would stay quiet for a minute, she almost had
him free.

“I have a
knife in my boot.”

“Why didn’t
you say so before?” she growled, lunging for his boots and pulling them off.

“Because I
had missed you dreadfully. I wanted to spend a few minutes talking to you.”

“Can we
converse once we are on land and away from danger?”

“Once we
are on land, will you stop being annoyed?”

“I will.”

“And will
you also tell me how much you love me?”

“You are
free,” she said instead.

He caught
her around the waist and pulled her closer. “We should spend some moments
kissing now to celebrate my freedom.”

“No, we will
go up onto the deck, and you will jump overboard and swim to the shore while I
will go back and save the duke.”

He sighed
and released her, “You will swim to the shore while I will save the duke.”

“Can we
discuss this outside? I feel like someone will come around the corner at any
moment and lock us both in.”

He caught
her hand and with a quick look outside raced up the stairs.

George knew
his way around the ship, which was why they were soon standing in fresh air and
morning light.

“I am
staying, Celine,” he told her firmly.

“How will
you defend yourself?”

“I have a
knife.”

“And
knitting needles,” she said, producing a few from her pocket and handing them
to him. “I still think I should stay. No one knows who I am, whereas they want
to keep you as a prisoner.”

“I am not
letting you stay here alone and defenceless, Celine. The Black Rover is
dangerous, and you won’t even … What in the—” George froze.

“What?”
Celine asked turning around to look. She spotted a hand clutching the edge of
the ship.

Someone was
climbing aboard, and they were in direct line of his sight.

Celine
grabbed George’s hand and pulled desperately. They had to get out of here.

“I’ll be
bound,” George gasped, refusing to budge. “Isn’t that Philly Slimweed?”

“Ack.”
Celine screeched spotting the long head and recognizing it.

“Philbert
Woodbead,” the poet corrected sourly.

“You took
one of the boats,” Celine said, noting that the maid’s dress he still wore was
dry.

“The
duchess took my wig,” he grumbled clambering over the rail and flopping onto
the deck.

“What are
you doing here?” Celine asked, her hands on her hips.

“I came to
win you back,” the poet replied.

“I don’t
want to listen to any more poetry,” Celine said firmly.

“No more
poems. This time I have prepared a dance.”