Sandra Heath (25 page)

They heard the alarm being raised in the nearby mess room, where the sailors were still seated around the table, but looked up sharply as Mr. Padstow flung the door open. “Sail-ho, lads! His Lordship’s about to be on deck, so look lively!” The men got up as one and made for the deck.

Jane and Kit tried to hold each other’s hand, but their fingers wouldn’t obey. The light around them began to change, turning slowly to eerie silver. Then, compelled by a force beyond their control, they rose from the pile of blankets and were drawn in a straight line toward the stern of the vessel, as if by an invisible chain. As they passed out of sight through the mess room wall, Rowley ran after them in panic. No straight line for him. He had to scurry through open doors and up companionways, but as he dashed along the open deck, at last he had them in view again. They disappeared into the captain’s quarters just as Marcus emerged, and the spaniel slipped through the briefly opened door.

* * * *

Henrietta climbed shakily down from the window seat and replaced the telescope on the stand. The hairs at the nape of her neck stirred uneasily, and she felt very strange. She was used to the supernatural, but this was very, very different. Gradually the light in the cabin changed. It was no longer just the soft glow of a single candle, but had become the shimmering brightness of several four-branched candelabra. The cabin itself had changed too, becoming much larger and more plainly furnished. An old-fashioned writing desk appeared before her, and on it lay a ship’s log. She saw the vessel’s name quite clearly upon the cover:
Wessex.

As recollections of Lady Chloe’s journal swept chillingly over her, something made her turn. Her heart quickened as she saw eight hazy figures seated around a large table. They were laughing and talking, but made no sound, and among them were Jane and Kit. The door opened and a ship’s officer looked urgently in. He spoke, but still Henrietta heard nothing. The captain rose swiftly from his chair and strode toward her. She had no time to step aside, but it didn’t matter because he passed right through her to go to the writing desk. He took a small telescope from the drawer of the writing desk, and just as Marcus had done but a few moments before, he went out onto the stern balcony to look at a sail on the horizon.

The tragedy of 1714 echoed through Henrietta, and she knew he feared the distant sail might belong to the
Basilic.
Past and present had become entangled, and the
Avalon
had become the
Wessex
and the
Légère
had become the
Basilic.
Four vessels, two of them ghosts from the previous century. But what was their fate? Were the vessels of 1814 as doomed as those of a hundred years before?

The captain came back in, spoke abruptly to the other men at the table, but still all was silent. Within moments everyone had hurried out, leaving only Kit and Jane, who held Rowley close in her arms.

Then the silver glow faded, and as the cabin of the
Avalon
returned, the ghosts were temporarily freed from the spell. Jane met Henrietta’s eyes. “Old Nick has us now, and on St. Valentine’s Day he will drive us on to the Goodwins again,” she said quietly.

Chapter Twenty-six

As the sun rose, the lookout could positively identify the suspicious sail as the
Légère.
The privateer made no progress, nor did it slip out of sight, so it was clear she was stalking the
Avalon.
Mulborough was already a hundred miles astern as the sloop ran briskly southward before the wind. The sails cracked, the wind whistled through the rigging, and seagulls screamed wildly in the cloudless sky. The temperature was above freezing, and a thaw had set in.

Overnight the sloop had been well out of sight of land as they cleared the large square bite out of the land known as the Wash, and now it was the low white coast of Norfolk that lay to starboard. Marcus kept the
Avalon
well inshore, where the water was too shallow for the privateer, but by now he’d guessed the Frenchman’s plan. Charles Lyons was biding his time, intending to capture the sloop, not destroy her. The tide was ebbing, and the area of sea ahead was a maze of dangerous shoals and sandbanks, especially off the large shingle spit known as Orford Ness. Here lay the hazard known as the Black Deeps, where beneath the water was the sunken village of Dunchurch, and it was said the church bell could still sometimes be heard tolling. No vessel would willingly risk such dangers, so Lyons was confident that even the
Avalon
would soon be forced to seek more open water, at which point he would strike. The
Légère
would crack on full sail, come up swiftly and direct a few well-aimed shots with her bow howitzers. If all went Lyons’ way, it would soon be over, and the
Avalon
could be in France before nightfall. It would be some revenge for being deprived of the gold at Mulborough.

Marcus had no intention of accommodating Lyons, and so although he felt that the
Avalon
stood a chance of outrunning the Frenchman, he decided to bolt for the safety of Great Yarmouth. But even as he made the decision, the wind suddenly backed sharply, sweeping off the land and forcing him to abandon Great Yarmouth. Determined not to make for the open sea where the
Légère
could pounce, Marcus sailed as close-hauled as possible, keeping to the coast. He willed a British naval vessel to appear with the wind behind her, to force the privateer to sheer off, but no such rescue arrived. There was nothing for it but to put the sloop and his own seamanship to the test. A little cloud had begun to burgeon overhead, and if he could skirt as closely as possible to the Black Deeps, maybe he could lose the
Légère
by disappearing into a moonless winter night.

Henrietta was seated on the flag locker by the taffrail on the quarterdeck. She was wrapped in her fur-lined cloak, with the hood held in place by a scarf. Salt clung to the dark curls around her face and her hands were thrust into a muff. The
Avalon’s
identification flag flapped like a wild thing as she glanced forward in the hope of seeing Marcus, but he was out of sight by the helmsman.

She had taken the liberty of bringing the telescope from the cabin, and through it saw Amabel standing at her brother’s side on the
Légère’s
deck. Henrietta gazed at the woman she had regarded as a close confidante. In truth, Amabel Renchester had always been a stranger, yet the fabrication of friendship she created had seemed the very essence of genuineness. It was chilling to think how very nearly her plans had succeeded.

Henrietta was not alone at the taffrail, for Jane and Kit were with her, as was Rowley. By now the ghosts knew how well things had progressed at the dinner
à deux
, but were convinced that it had now become hopeless. Even if Marcus were to propose, and Henrietta were to accept, at this cruelly late point it would all come to nothing. Old Nick was closing in upon them, and after toying cruelly for a while, would carry them off to a terrible eternity in Hades. They were all in the hands of the Master of Hades, and that was the end of it.

But even now, when all seemed lost, they abided by the rules, which would be broken if they if they told Henrietta of their mission to bring her together with Marcus. They only told her of the struggle between St. Peter and Old Nick for possession of their souls, and said that the Master of Hades had clearly won. Henrietta comforted them as best she could, but there was precious little she could say.

Rowley suddenly jumped from Jane’s arms onto Henrietta’s lap, for he had taken a great fancy to her. She took a hand from her muff to stroke him, because he liked it even though he couldn’t feel anything. Jane hardly noticed the spaniel’s desertion. All she could think of was that the
Wessex
and
Basilic
had foundered at first light on St. Valentine’s Day, and today was St. Valentine’s Eve.

Henrietta didn’t hear Marcus step up onto the quarterdeck. She only realized he was there when he appeared beside her, and steadied himself with a leather-gloved hand on the taffrail. His cloak billowed as he glanced down and saw the movement of her hand as she stroked the invisible spaniel. “We have company?” he inquired above the racket of the sea and ship.

“Yes.”

He looked at her. “It’s too cold out here. You should be in the cabin.”

“I wanted some fresh air.”

“Fresh? Well, that’s one way of describing it.”

“I’m hardy in spite of my delicate breeding,” she replied with a smile.

He smiled too, and there was sufficient warmth in his eyes to melt polar ice.

They were silent for a moment. Then she looked astern again at the following vessel. “Do you think the
Légère
is fast enough to overhaul us?”

“The truth is, I don’t know. She isn’t yet giving full chase, but we have sail to spare as well.”

“Are we still making for the Thames?”

“Yes, although the river itself may be frozen in London, hopefully we’ll be able to sail far enough for the
Légère
to cry off. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking of the Goodwins.” She glanced at Jane and Kit.

Marcus had been told about the silver glow and mingling of past and present, and he knew the fate Jane had predicted. He hunched his shoulders beneath his cloak. “Old Nick can go whistle. He’s not getting anything or anyone while I live and breathe.”

“So there is no chance at all that we will go anywhere near the Goodwins?” Henrietta wanted to allay Jane’s fears if she could.

Marcus replied, “I cannot deny that the safety of the Downs is a great temptation.”

“The Downs?”

“The haven between the sands and the Kent shore. It’s where all shipping coming in and out of London holes up when necessary, and is reckoned the most protected stretch of water on the east coast. But the estuary is closer and I really have no desire to test the
Légère
’s
mettle.”

Henrietta looked astern again. “I’ve seen Amabel on the
Légère.
I wonder what she’s thinking?”

“Amabel? Most probably that since she’s unlikely to enjoy Sutherton’s embraces again, comfort will have to be drawn instead from the prospect of shining very nicely in the Paris salons on the proceeds of a prize like the
Avalon”
he replied dryly.

“What will happen to us if we’re captured?”

“When the
Avalon
picks up her skirts to run, she shows a very neat pair of heels. If nothing else, we’ll give Lyons a run for his money.”

She noticed he hadn’t actually answered her question, and remembered that Charlotte had told her Charles Lyons offered no quarter, even to women.

Suddenly the lookout shouted down from the mainmast that the
Légère
was hoisting her full rig. As Marcus glanced swiftly at the other vessel, Jane and Kit saw everything around them begin to turn silver again. The dreadful weakness of the previous night returned, and they were no longer in control. Jane gave a sob of utter dismay, and buried her face against Kit’s shoulder. They were on the
Wessex
again, and there was pandemonium on the main deck as all hands were summoned. The
Basilic
was coming up astern and the merchantman had to flee if she could.

Henrietta experienced it all too, although she remained in the present. She saw the
Wessex
superimposed on the
Avalon,
and the
Basilic
upon the
Légère.
There was so much panic, yet everything was silent. It was like dreaming while awake. Rowley whimpered and pushed his head deep into the folds of her cloak, trying to hide. “You’re safe with me, Rowley. I won’t let anything hurt you!” she whispered determinedly.

Marcus looked concernedly at her. “Henrietta?”

But her gaze was following the past, and she sank to her knees as the tragic fate of the
Wessex
unfolded inexorably before her.

“Henrietta!”

The other images disappeared, as did Jane and Kit, but Rowley was left behind, kept back by the sheer force of Henrietta’s determination to protect him. Marcus pulled her to her feet and gripped her elbows to search her face, which was now quite ashen. “What happened, Henrietta?”

She swayed a little as everything became normal again, but Jane’s dread now enveloped her as well. “Marcus, Jane is right, we
are
going to founder on the Goodwins! We’re the
Wessex
all over again!”

“That’s nonsense. Tell me what happened.”

“I—I saw the past.” Still cradling Rowley, she described it all, and then raised frightened eyes to Marcus. “It’s coming full circle, Marcus, and cannot be avoided.”

“What utter nonsense! I admit that there are such things as ghosts. Indeed how could I deny it?” He nodded down to the way her arms clearly enveloped the invisible spaniel. “But I will
not
accept that our fate has been decreed by some supernatural force. All that’s happened is that the
Légère
has tired of stalking us, and I’m going to show Lyons just how handy a good British sloop can be when necessary!” He kissed her passionately on the mouth, and then strode away, shouting for Mr. Barrington.

Henrietta looked down at Rowley. “Where are Jane and Kit? What’s happened to them?” The spaniel gazed back, and whimpered again.

* * * *

As the sea chase began in earnest, the Master of Hades sat back to watch. He was safe in the knowledge that weather conditions would soon favor the privateer, and unavoidable decisions would be forced upon Marcus. St. Valentine’s Day and the Goodwins awaited, and with them a very neat and satisfactory repetition of the past. And all this while dithering St. Peter was well and truly distracted by a jealous dispute among angels. How provident that angels were not always angelic!

However, in spite of his outward display of calm confidence and gloating anticipation, Old Nick was in fact quite ruffled. The reason for this lay in the outcome of the dinner
à deux
, for he knew how very, very close the ghosts were to success, and if that happened they would elude his grasp forever. When the whole business began in 1714, he had promised himself the eventual satisfaction of thumbing his nose toward heaven. The final snatching of their souls, one hundred years to the day, would allow him to do just that, but he would lose face entirely if they slipped through his fingers. Victory
had
to be his!