Patricia Potter (10 page)

Until the night Dunn burst in on them with several of his friends. The young lord had slapped Morgana, and Quinn had gone after him, beating him badly. Dunn demanded satisfaction, and Quinn’s pride and anger made him accept.

The duel took place in a field outside London. As the challenged party, Quinn had the choice of weapons and he selected pistols.

It was dawn, a pretty day for late in the year in London. A pink and persimmon glow lit the sky, and the birds sang happy songs…until the shots rang out. Quinn was nicked by a premature shot. The next shot was his. He aimed to the right of Dunn, but just as he pulled the trigger, George Dunn sought to avoid the bullet and moved straight into its path.

It was the first time Quinn had ever shot a human being. He watched disbelievingly as the young lord crumpled to the ground, blood spreading over his chest. Then there was a flurry of activity as a group of horsemen pounded down on them. Two dismounted and grabbed his arms while the third, an older man, leaned over the fallen heir. When he looked up at Quinn, his face held a mixture of grief and fury. “You’ll pay for this…I’ll make you wish for hell…”

“Wish for hell.”

And Sethwyck had, Quinn thought.

Blue eyes. Brown eyes. Stay away from them all.

Quinn had told himself that each moment for the past week, ever since they had left Vicksburg. What confused him most was that Meredith Seaton was not even pretty, except possibly for those eyes and hair, and she certainly wasn’t the type of woman who had ever appealed to him before.

Perhaps, he told himself, his desire was only the result of abstinence. Any woman with two eyes, two hands and two legs would look good to him. Or perhaps the growing hunger in him was for something more, for the soft touch of a woman who wouldn’t care about his past, or even his present. Few southern women, he knew, would forgive his current activities. In the South, a slave stealer was worse than a thief; he was a danger to a whole way of life.

But the ache in his loins was more insistent than it had ever been, and he knew he had to have some relief. Perhaps it would take his mind away from the woman who was the very embodiment of everything he had come to detest. If only he hadn’t seen her that morning against the rainbow. It had put fantasies in his head, and he had no room for them there.

He heard the loud clanging of the boat’s bell and knew they were approaching Cairo. In minutes the band would start playing, and there would be a cacophony of sound: steam hissing, bells ringing, musical instruments blaring. He felt the familiar tension build within him, although he knew neither his face nor stance indicated it. Cairo was probably the most precarious station along the Railroad.

There were two routes leading from Cairo, one heading north up the Mississippi to Minnesota, the other east over the Ohio River and along the border of Illinois and into Ohio, and finally Canada. This particular shipment was to go the second route, and the transfer was risky. Because of Cairo’s position on the border between slave and free states, it attracted a fair number of slave hunters and marshals, and they paid particular attention to boat traffic.

As the
Lucky Lady
inched up to the wharf, Quinn’s eyes searched and found the Carroll brothers, both of whom were on deck, their own eyes weighing every passenger preparing to leave. Quinn’s eyes then went down to the people on the wharf below. His stomach tightened as he noticed two wore badges.

With a nod, he summoned Cam, who quickly responded, understanding his message without words being spoken. Quinn knew he would fill the empty crates with the bolts of cotton they kept in the hold for just such a purpose and warn the fugitives to stay very still in the hidden room.

Quinn turned back to the Carroll brothers. He couldn’t help but notice the furtive looks of the two slave catchers. They were very definitely searching for something or someone. Perhaps, he mused, they were seeking to recoup a portion of the small fortune they had lost to him on this trip. It had probably not been wise to pull their tail that way, yet he had been unable to resist the temptation, particularly when he had earmarked those funds for the Railroad. Levi Coffin, the reputed leader of the Railroad and a member of the Society of Friends, would not approve, he knew, but still it made the game a bit more interesting.

Sometimes too interesting, he rebuked himself. He should not risk others for his own sometimes whimsical desires.

He continued to watch as the gangplank lowered, and the roustabouts lifted sacks of sugar and dye destined for the Northeast. At another nod of his head the roustabouts quickly ran down the gangplank, preventing anyone from coming aboard. Quinn smiled at the frustrated looks of the marshals below.

Finally, the two men elbowed their way up, cursing as they came, and made their way to Quinn. They knew him well and had even shared a few drinks with him in the saloon.

“There’s been a spate of runaways reported,” one said curtly, annoyed at the delay. “We have orders to search all riverboats.”

“Of course,” Quinn said easily. “I can just about guarantee you won’t find anything. Everyone knows the way I feel about runaways.”

“Yes sir, Captain,” the second man said, “but we’re checking every boat, packet or barge going upriver. We’ve been getting a lot of pressure, damned abolitionists stirring everyone up.”

Quinn shrugged. “Go ahead. They’d be damned fools to try the river, but you’re welcome to look.”

“We also have to see the papers of your crew,” the second man said, his tone more agreeable. Most captains weren’t as accommodating as Captain Devereux. And he knew he and his partner could expect a damn good brandy afterward. Captain Devereux was a gentleman. He didn’t get testy like the others.

“You’ll find them all in order,” Quinn said with a disarming grin. “I see to that.”

But the harmony ended when the Carroll brothers approached. They were obviously known to the two marshals who, equally as obvious, didn’t like them. It was an attitude Quinn had seen and used frequently. The lawmen, while not a bit loath to do their duty in apprehending fugitives or those aiding fugitives, despised those who did it for money alone.

Their eyes, which had lost their annoyance with Quinn, now focused on the Carrolls with hostility.

Completely oblivious to the sudden strain, Ted Carroll addressed the marshals. “We’ve heard rumors about this boat. We want you to search it and check some of those crates.”

One of the marshals turned an icy expression on him. “Lost some money, did you?” His question was directed more at Quinn than Carroll, and Quinn merely shrugged easily while the Carrolls flushed angrily. All their grateful cordiality of the first night on the
Lucky Lady
was gone, lost in the succeeding nights of card losses.

The marshals looked at Quinn. “Go ahead,” he said and called a man over to fetch some tools. When they arrived, he took them and looked inquiringly at the Carrolls. The fugitives were always the last to be unloaded, remaining in their hiding place until Quinn believed it completely safe.

The Carrolls eyed the various crates, then pointed to three in separate locations. Quinn handed the tools to them. “You want to look, you do the work. And be sure to nail them back securely again.”

He leaned nonchalantly against the boat railing as the Carrolls pried open the crates and looked through them, finally giving up in disgust. They started to walk away, but one of the marshals stopped them. “You heard the captain. Nail them shut again.”

“We want to see below deck too,” Ted Carroll said, his face full of frustration as his brother started nailing the crates back together.

“Of course,” Quinn said. “I want you fully satisfied. But while you’re repairing the damage, I’ll show these two gentlemen the crew’s papers.” He stressed the word “gentlemen,” and remembered fleetingly how Meredith Seaton had excluded him from such company days ago. Why in the devil did he keep thinking about her?

Quinn led the way to the office he and Jamison shared and took out the papers, then offered the marshals a glass of brandy. They accepted without hesitation and downed two glasses each as they slowly perused the papers. As on most riverboats, each roustabout and deckhand was a freeman, except for Captain Devereux’s large black. The marshals had never understood why the captain kept the man around; he looked and acted rebellious and dangerous. Upon being asked, Devereux had merely laughed and said it was a personal whim and challenge to break the man’s spirit. There were no more questions. It seemed entirely within character of the mercurial gambler.

Besides, Quinn had added, Cam was readily recognizable by his size and his limp. He would be very easy to recapture if he dared to escape.

When Quinn knew Cam had had more than enough time to load the empty crates, he suggested they rejoin the Carrolls and go below. The brothers, sweating and obviously furious, were just finishing closing the final crate, when Quinn and the marshals appeared. Their mood was not improved as the marshals sent challenging looks toward the Carrolls. Would a guilty man invite a search, even eagerly lead it? The expressions on the Carrolls’ faces became grimmer.

Quinn led the way to the cargo hold. When he met Cam on the steps, his easygoing manner disappeared. His eyes narrowed, and his lips grew tight. “You lazy bastard,” he said angrily. “You’re supposed to be on deck, unloading.”

Hate crept into the black man’s eyes. “Yessuh, mastah. Jest come to see how much more needs unloadin’.”

“Others will do that,” Quinn said roughly. “You’re to handle the heavy crates, damn you. I catch you sneakin’ off again, I’ll have you whipped.”

Cam lowered his eyes, but not before the others saw the sudden blast of fury in them. “Yessuh,” he said and went up the stairs.

One of the marshals looked at Quinn. “He’ll try to kill you some day. You would be wise to get rid of him.”

Quinn shrugged. “He knows what would happen to him.” He took out a match and lit a candle lamp hanging on a peg on the wall. Turning to the Carrolls, he spread his arms wide. “Look where you wish. Just remember you have to crate it back up.”

The Carrolls looked at the two lawmen for help. One of the marshals grinned. “I’m satisfied.”

Ted turned to his brother. “Hell, I ain’t going to spend the rest of the day inspecting and securing these damned things. It’s obvious there’s nothin’to the tale.” John wasn’t quite so ready. His eyes went slowly around the hold, visibly measuring the walls and the number and sizes of the crates. Suspicion radiated from his eyes, and Quinn had the sudden feeling that he was not finished with these two. It was as if John smelled something he couldn’t quite pin down, and wouldn’t give up until he did. But for now, Quinn saw the slave hunter’s eyes surrender. He nodded.

Quinn invited them to the saloon for a drink, but the two brothers looked at each other’s dirty, sweaty clothes, and curtly refused. A glint in John’s eyes told Quinn that he was aware the invitation might be a barbed one.

The Carrolls nodded to the marshals and took their leave. Quinn turned to the marshals. “You’re sure you don’t want to look any further? If there’s anyone hiding down here, I sure would like to know about it. Wouldn’t mind getting some of that reward money myself.”

One of the marshals, a man named Bill Terry, laughed. “Damned fool slave hunters. They see fugitives in every closet. Other day, I heard they took a freeman by mistake, and the man’s employer raised holy hell. Had them arrested, and rightly so. Greedy vultures.”

They reached the saloon. “Another brandy before you go, gentlemen?”

“Don’t mind if we do,” Terry said.

It took Quinn another hour to get rid of them. When the two men finally wove their way happily off the boat, he searched the boat and wharf. The Carrolls were nowhere to be seen.

Cam was busy unloading the legal cargo when he caught Quinn’s eyes and with insolence strolled over to him.

“Yessuh?” he said with a gleam in his eyes.

“Lazy bastard,” Quinn said again, but amused regard had taken the place of anger now that there was no one within hearing range. “I think the cargo below is ready to move.”

Cam’s face was impassive, but his eyes warmed as he nodded.

Sophie’s Parlor for Gentlemanly Pursuits stood on one of the back streets of Cairo. Unlike the saloons on River Street, it had a regal air and boasted of some of the finest ladies of joy along the Mississippi.

Quinn had first visited Sophie’s on Underground business several years ago, and now often returned if the boat remained overnight. He seldom used its most obvious attraction, but enjoyed the rich luxury of the parlor itself and the ready availability of the best liquor, cigars, and food. He also liked Sophie, who, in addition to her role as hostess and madam, was a member of the Underground Railroad. Her establishment was often the ideal spot to hide runaway female slaves who could pose as Sophie’s new girls. Authorities, who often used the facilities, would be loath to see it closed, much less raided and their own sins revealed. Sophie’s was regarded as “sacred” by the politicians and the police.

Quinn had remained on board the
Lucky Lady
until the last of the cargo had been transferred. He had then decided to visit Sophie’s and asked Cam if he would like to accompany him. Sophie was one of the few people who knew everything about Cam, and there was a certain mulatto girl at Sophie’s who welcomed Cam’s visits. But this time, uncharacteristically, Cam declined. Quinn had noted the lines of strain in Cam’s face and wondered if they came from worry about Meredith Seaton’s young servant. He was afraid it was so, and once more he vowed to himself that he would do something about it.