A Heartless Design (32 page)

“Yes,” he said shortly. He saw her every time he closed his eyes.

“She is a very unusual woman, I must say.”

“I liked her,” Adele interjected. “She’s a good deal cleverer than Lady Mary.”

Sebastien shot his little sister a grateful look, then turned back to his mother. “Regardless if you found her to be unusual, the choice isn’t yours to make.”

“So you have made a choice?” she asked, her voice sharpening with interest.

He nodded. “I intend to make Cordelia Bering my wife as soon as possible. No matter what I have to do.”

Adele, blissfully ignorant of the depths of the matter, merely raised one eyebrow. “You needn’t sound so militant about it. Why should you expect the lady to refuse you?”

“Oh, she is famous for her refusals,” her mother said. “She was considered touched in the head when she turned down that foreign prince three years ago!”

“Perhaps she didn’t love the prince,” Adele said, with a knowing look.

“Love! She couldn’t have made a better match than that.”

“Mama,” Adele said sharply. “Sebastien is sitting right in front of you!”

“Oh, I didn’t mean…” his mother said, suddenly flustered. “Of course…”

But Sebastien only smiled wryly at his mother. “Your support is overwhelming, truly.”

“She’d be mad to turn you down, dearest! You know that I think so. And certainly she could not hope to do better than you, even if another prince came to town.”

Before his family could pester him further about his potential marriage plans, the maid came in with a tray bearing one card. “An Ensign Hartley to see you, sir. He said it was urgent.”

“Of course.” Sebastien glanced at his family. “I will see him in my study. I’ll come to the hall with you and take him there myself.”

Adele asked, “You’re not keeping an eligible bachelor away from me, are you?”

“This doesn’t concern you, Adele. Try to imagine such a concept for a moment.”

“I say, Sebastien!” she said, her eyes widening in dramatic offense.

Their mother intervened. “Hush, Adele. Your brother is quite right. You must remember that a lady never solicits acquaintance with a man, particularly one she has no connection to! It is most improper.”

“Listen to your mama,” he said, choosing to duck out quickly, before anyone else got curious about the identity of his caller. Avoiding any more discussion of propriety also seemed prudent, considering his own recent behavior.

Thorne hurried to meet the young man who had shown up at the door. He stood there, in civilian clothes, but still with the bearing of an officer. Thorne extended a hand. “Hartley. You can’t imagine how grateful I am to see you.”

“Sir,” Hartley responded, his young face serious. “I was told to present myself at this address.”

“Follow me, please.” Thorne waited for the maid to take Hartley’s things, then led him down the hall to his private study. Closing the door, he said, “You can speak freely here. Did they tell you anything about what happened?”

“No, sir. I was merely contacted and told my presence was required for a matter of the gravest urgency. Am I correct in thinking it involves the shipyard you were so interested in?”

“I must go there,” Sebastien confided. “Something of very great value has been taken, Hartley. I suspect that it may be at that shipyard even now…or that I may find a clue there.”

“You intend to go alone?”

“I will be joined by one other man. Can you get us there with no one knowing?”

Hartley nodded. “I can bloody well try.” He looked curiously at Thorne. “I don’t know who you work for, but whoever it is, they are skilled at persuasion. I was given leave for as long as you say it’s necessary.”

Thorne asked, “Can you get access to a ship?”

The young man smiled mysteriously. “I have a ship ready now, in fact. My own private vessel, with a small and trustworthy crew. No one from the navy will need to be contacted, and no one on board will breathe a word. I can take you and your friend across the channel this evening.”

“Thank God,” Thorne said. “I’ll tell you more along the way.” 

“Tell me only what I need to know, sir,” Hartley warned. “I’m content to be a ferryman.”

“Then let’s find my friend and we’ll be off.” Thorne stood up.

“No sense in rushing, if I may say. Tide won’t be out until nearly nine. And I wouldn’t want to sail much earlier…this sounds like a moonlight mission.”

Sebastien grated at the delay, but admitted that there was little he could do to speed up the tides.

At eight o’ clock, Thorne met Forester at the harbor. Both men were dressed for business in nondescript outfits and worn greatcoats. Forester looked particularly scruffy. No one would guess the tall man was a peer. In the deepening twilight, the two agents found the small vessel they sought floating quietly by the pier. Thorne didn’t know much about ships, but he could tell this one had been designed for both speed and stealth. It was named the
Mistral
.

As they approached the ship, a voice on board called out an alert, and Hartley appeared at the rail.

“Come aboard!” he called, his tone just loud enough to reach them.

They boarded and found the young officer conversing with a crewmember. The sailor nodded in comprehension and left, giving only a cursory look at the new passengers. Hartley turned to them. “Welcome aboard the
Mistral
.”

“Riding rather low in the water, isn’t she?” Forester asked.

Hartley gave him a sharp look. “Don’t worry. There’s a full load of cargo in the hold.”

“What kind of cargo?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Hartley’s face. “‘Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie.’ Now, do you need passage across the channel tonight?”

“You know that we do.”

“Then you’ve got my permission to not think about this ship’s primary purpose.”

“A purpose the Royal Navy wouldn’t approve of, I suspect.”

Hartley’s smile took on a devilish air. Sebastien didn’t want to know how the young officer had gained his sailing experience, but he was sure the man had been an expert long before he joined up with the navy. “Maybe not, but if you want a discreet ship, the
Mistral
will answer. There’s a small cabin aft. You can keep your bags there.”

Forester followed Thorne to the empty cabin. Four bunks, two on each side, occupied most of the space. Forester tossed his leather bag onto one of the lower ones. “Didn’t know the navy was hiring smugglers.”

“You think most sailors are saints?”

“No, but he’s an officer!”

“He’s helping the Zodiac. That’s all I need to know.”

Forester grunted. “Let’s go on deck. I like to get sick in the fresh sea breeze,” he added sarcastically. Forester wasn’t the best sailor.

The two men returned to the deck. Hartley informed them they would sail shortly. “It looks clear, but if weather comes up, I may need to act fast. You’ll follow what orders you’re given.” His demeanor had completely changed. The diffident young officer was gone.

“Aye, Captain,” Thorne replied.

As it happened, the crossing was smooth. Once the
Mistral
cleared the Thames, Hartley barked out an order. The small crew immediately took down the main sail, rolling it neatly. Thorne was puzzled, until he saw that there was a second sail attached to the boom, this one dyed dark blue. The two Englishmen watched as the shadowy sail was hoisted and caught the wind, billowing out like a storm cloud. The smaller sails had similar replacements. In the nighttime, the dark sails rendered the ship all but invisible to anyone who wasn’t on top of it.

“That’s brilliant,” Forester said finally.

Hartley said, “Isn’t it? Thought of it myself. The
Mistral
is a shy and modest lady, you know, and doesn’t like to be seen.”

“You’re protective of this ship.”

“I helped build her,” Hartley said proudly. “Based on the Bermuda sloop I grew up around…with a few improvements.”

Thorne nodded. He said, “If this all ends well, there’s someone I want you to meet. We could build a whole new navy with you two working at it.”

Hartley smiled. “Any time. Always glad to talk to a man of sense when it comes to making sailing easier.” 

Hartley steered the ship through the dark waters of the channel, neatly avoiding the faint signs of other ships appearing in their path. “It takes a bit longer, but I’d rather be safe than triumphant, if you take my meaning. Coming back, my lady can outrun nearly any ship of the line, given a head start.”

“She’ll be faster on the way back to England?” Thorne asked, thinking of how quickly he could get Cordelia back home.

Hartley nodded. “Lighter, and therefore faster.”

“Because you sell the unmentioned cargo.” 

“Do you really want to know what I do, sir?”

“In for a penny…”

Hartley nodded. “Fair enough. My family’s as English as yours, my lord, but I grew up in Bermuda. It was an interesting childhood. My mother’s side of the family hasn’t always had the smoothest relationship with the law, you see. I learned the tides and the coastlines of dozens of islands by the age of ten, as well as a fair bit of the family trade.”

“You’re a smuggler.”

“Sometimes. First time I met you, I thought that’s what you were going to harass me about! But we’ve always been loyal to the crown. I joined the Royal Navy to serve as best I can. Sometimes I carry letters…sometimes people. The fact that the
Mistral
also does ‘honest’ smuggling hides those special shipments.”

“I think I know enough,” Thorne said. “I trust that we all have secrets to keep.”

Before dawn, the ship’s progress slowed, her path now shadowing the foreign shoreline, barely visible in the wavering starlight.

“Do you know where we are?” Thorne asked Hartley, who was at the helm.

“Of course.”

“And you know where the river is?”

“I do. Isn’t that why you wanted me to bring you across?”

“I just don’t understand how you can see in the dark.”

Hartley smiled. “To me, it isn’t dark. I’m used to sailing at night.”

“I expect you are,” Thorne said with a laugh.

The
Mistral
eventually sailed into the mouth of a small river. Hartley spoke again, his voice pitched low. “She’s not a large vessel, but I don’t know how deep the bottom of this river is with the current tide. I’ll get you as close as I can.”

“Can you wait once we’re off the ship?”

“How long will your errand take?”

“If what we’re looking for is there, much less than an hour.”

“I can wait an hour. Longer than that…” Hartley was plainly curious now. “What if the thing you’re looking for isn’t there?”

“Then we’ll have to scour the place for a hint as to where it might be. Can I send a signal to let you know not to wait?”

“If I can get close enough, you can tell me yourself.”

It was still dark when the
Mistral
came abreast of a crude pier. Hartley ordered the ship moored. “We’re here. Last time, there was one man who watched the place at night. You have to assume he’s there now. You’d better find him before he can tell anyone that a ship docked here.”

“Indeed.”

The two agents wasted no time. They jumped the rail and entered the seemingly deserted shipyard.

Forester muttered. “They’re not building much right now. Did you see that ship hull? Like a skeleton.”

“She must not have told them what they need to know yet,” Thorne replied. “But we have to find out where she is. Start searching for Miss Bering…or anyone who might be on watch.”

It didn’t take them long to find the man Hartley had noticed before. He wasn’t a guard, but more of a clerk who also kept an eye on the premises overnight. He must have had a long, boring night, because he’d nodded off in a chair by a desk.

Thorne wasn’t too gentle waking him up.

The man’s eyes flew open when he found himself upright and in the grip of a coldly angry stranger.

“Where is she?” he asked in French.

“Who are you?” the other man gasped out.

Thorne tightened his grip. “Where is she?”

“Are you a husband? Brother?” The man stopped caring when Thorne moved one hand to his throat. “Wait!” he begged in French. “They didn’t stay here. They took her away!”

“Where to?” Thorne asked, loosening his grip.

“They don’t tell me things like that. Hayden doesn’t speak to me…”

“Where might they have gone? Where else do they work?”

“Calais, I think,” the man said quickly. “Hayden has a house there. It’s where he meets Ar…” He stopped.

“Meets who?”

“Arceneau.”

“Who’s that?” Forester asked, also in French.

“The one who pays for everything.”

Thorne looked hard at the man. “Including Hayden’s house in Calais?”

The man nodded. “But I don’t know where it is. I only know who they pay for it.”

“The landlord, you mean?”

The clerk wanted to be helpful. “Always a payment to M. Belrande, Rue de Parnasse, Calais, for each quarter’s rent. I keep the books sometimes.”

“I’m so glad you do,” Thorne muttered in English. He nodded to his friend.

Forester delivered a short, quick hit that ensured the man would snooze for a while.

“He’s out,” the tall man said. “But I’d say we haven’t got long until the morning crew comes.”

Fortuitously, Thorne had found a bottle of brandy tucked in a drawer. He applied a liberal dash of alcohol to the unconscious man’s clothes, then left the mostly empty bottle conveniently close to hand. “That might confuse the issue slightly.”

“They’ll be less inclined to believe what he says, anyway.”

Thorne and Forester returned to the ship. On board, Hartley saw Thorne’s expression and guessed the cause.

“You didn’t find it,” the young man noted.

“No, but we know where we go next. Calais.”

Hartley nodded. “I’ll take you there. It’s not far now.”

Later that same day, the
Mistral
reached the Calais harbor.

“How long will it take for you to distribute your cargo?”

“Three days at most. I usually finish my run in Calais, so I’ll come back by Thursday.”