The Red Siren (4 page)

      “You must forgive Grace,” the admiral said. “She is overzealous in her faith, as her mother was.” He dropped his fork onto his plate with a clank.
      “I do not believe you can be overzealous in your love for God, Admiral.” Mr. Waite nodded toward Grace.
      Faith let out a painfully ladylike sigh.
Wonderful, another Puritan in our midst.
“You do not know my sister, Mr. Waite.”
      Sir Wilhelm cleared his throat. “’Tis best to leave God out of the affairs of men.”
      Grace cocked her delicate head. “Which would explain, Sir Wilhelm, why man has made such a mess of this world.”
      Hope frowned then pushed her plate aside and leaned over the table, drawing Sir Wilhelm’s gaze to her chest—though obviously not the gaze she intended to draw, as her attention locked upon the commander. “What brings you to Charles Towne, Mr. Waite?”
      
“After Blackbeard’s horrendous blockade of your city this past May, Parliament thought it wise to send some of His Majesty’s ships to patrol the area.” The commander nodded toward the admiral.
      The admiral scowled. “The pirate attack was quite an event, I have heard. The poor citizens of this town held at ransom by a thieving pirate, demanding, of all things, medical supplies. And him holding Samuel Wragg, a member of the council, hostage and threatening to kill him. Absurd.”
      “I couldn’t agree more, Admiral,” Mr. Waite said. “Which is precisely why I have been sent here—to capture every pirate patrolling these waters and ensure they are hung by the neck until dead.”

T
he biscuit in Faith’s mouth instantly dried, leaving a hardened clump that scraped across her tongue. Grabbing some water to wash it down, she leaned back in her chair, eyed Mr. Waite, and pressed a hand to her stomach, where the food she had just consumed began to protest.
      “How exciting!” Hope beamed, clapping her hands. “A pirate hunter in our very own house.”
      “I am simply doing my duty, miss.” Mr. Waite gave Faith a concerned look. “Are you feeling well, Miss Westcott? You have gone quite pale.”
      Faith nodded, gathered her resolve, and opened her mouth to say something witty, but her voice mutinied.
      “I daresay.” Hope placed a hand on her chest, her voice a soft purr. “I feel much safer knowing you are guarding our harbor from those vile creatures.”
      Sir Wilhelm lifted his glass in salute. “We proprietors do appreciate the presence of the Royal Navy to protect our interests in the province.”
      “We are pleased to be of service.” Mr. Waite’s gaze drifted over the ladies and landed on the admiral. “Did you say that you have another daughter back in England?”
      Leaning forward, the admiral filled his glass of wine for the third time, nearly tipping it in the process. He slammed the decanter down with a thud. Faith cringed. Her father took to drinking only when something vexed him. And the combination was oft more explosive than powder and matchstick. “Charity, my only married daughter, remained in Portsmouth,” he said.
      Faith’s ire rose along with a sudden pounding in her head. “Imprisoned in Portsmouth, you meant to say, Father.” Instantly she wished she had kept her mouth shut—for once—for Father’s face swelled like a globefish.
      
Mr. Waite raised a curious brow in her direction, shifting his gaze between her and the admiral. Faith sighed. She might as well continue what she had started.
      “My sister was forced to marry a beastly man who stole the printing business Father had allowed her to embark upon. And…” She glanced at Hope, whose countenance had fallen. “And he was unfaithful.” A clump of sorrow rose in Faith’s throat. She grabbed Hope’s hand beneath the table and squeezed against the clammy chill that clung to her sister’s palm.
      The admiral dropped his knife onto his plate with a loud clank. “And you know better than to speak of such things at my table, Faith.”
      Sir Wilhelm pointed his fork at her. “Forgive me for saying so, but your sister’s husband could hardly have stolen a business that upon marriage became his by law. Besides, women have no sense for business, nor for the spending of money acquired from such ventures. These things are best left up to men.”
      “Here, here, good man.” The admiral lifted his glass.
      “And ofttimes a man is forced to seek”—Sir Wilhelm cleared his throat—“shall we say, diversions elsewhere when his life at home is unpleasant.” He shrugged before chomping on a biscuit.
      Faith shot to her feet, her chair scraping over the wooden floor behind her. Heat inflamed her face. Her fingers tingled, yearning for a weapon, any weapon. Her eyes landed on a pitcher of water. She grabbed it, squeezing her fist over the cool handle. “’Tis to be expected, sir, only of scoundrels and savages,” she said in as calm a voice as possible as she filled her glass. Then, setting the pitcher down in front of Sir Wilhelm—atop a serving spoon—she quickly withdrew her hand as the wavering container toppled over. A cascade of water spilled onto the table, gushed toward the edge, and flooded Sir Wilhelm’s breeches before splattering onto the floor.
      Springing to his feet, he stumbled over his chair, sending it crashing behind him. “Of all the…!” he screeched, reminding Faith of her parrot, Morgan, whenever something riled him.
      “Faith!” Her father stood and directed the serving maids to assist Sir Wilhelm. Their shoes clomped over the wooden floorboards like a herd of cattle as they sped off, returning within seconds with towels. “Where is your head, girl?”
      “It was an accident, Father.” Faith lifted her hands in a conciliatory gesture then clasped them together before facing Sir Wilhelm. “My
sincere apologies, Sir Wilhelm. I was not paying attention.”
      Sir Wilhelm scowled as he snatched a towel from one of the maids with a snap and dabbed at his sodden breeches. “Perhaps, Admiral, you should hire a governess to teach your daughters proper etiquette. Apparently, without their mother, their social graces have lapsed.”
      “It was an unintentional mishap, Sir Wilhelm,” Grace said, ever the voice of calm propriety.
      The admiral frowned. For a second, Faith thought he would defend his daughters, but then he grabbed his drink and plopped back into his chair.
      After tossing the wet towel back to the maid, Sir Wilhelm adjusted his wig and took his seat. Mr. Waite held his hand to his mouth, and Faith sensed a smile lingered behind it. When his eyes met hers, a spark of playfulness danced across them.
      “Sit down, Faith.” Her father pounded his boot on the floor and pointed to her chair. “You have insulted our guest enough. If you cannot behave, I will insist you leave this room at once.”
      Faith sank into her chair, not wanting to leave her sisters to endure Sir Wilhelm’s vile opinions without her protection. She squeezed Hope’s arm and felt her quiver as a soft sob escaped the poor girl. A heavy weight of guilt pressed down upon Faith. Why had she resurrected such a horrid memory?
      “Quit your sniveling, girl,” the admiral barked at Hope. “We have guests.”
      Faith glared at her father. He knew very well what had upset Hope. Yet repeatedly he chose to hide behind the delusion of propriety. He could face battles upon the sea, witness men’s legs being blasted into twigs, make snap decisions that changed the course of history, but he could not face what had happened to his own daughter.
      “You must forgive my daughters, Mr. Waite.” The admiral scratched his thick gray sideburns as the servants cleared the dishes from the table. “Since their mother died, they have not had proper female instruction.”
      “As you well know, Father”—Faith could not control the acrid bite in her tone—“I have taken that role upon myself. And I will continue to do so.” She turned toward her sisters. “Although I know I can never take Mother’s place.” She eased a lock of Hope’s golden hair from her face and saw her mother staring back at her. Faith’s heart warmed. “You look so much like her.”
      
Hope smiled, her eyes shimmering.
      “Your mother must have been an incredible woman.” Mr. Waite’s deep voice smoothed the ripples of distress radiating over the table. His warm gaze landed on Faith and lingered there as if he were soaking in every detail of her. “Possessing both beauty and piety.” He smiled then looked down and began fidgeting with his spoon.
      Faith took a sip of cool water, hoping to douse the heat rising within her at his perusal.
      “She is in heaven now.” Grace kissed Hope on the cheek.
      “God shouldn’t have taken her in the first place.” Faith released Hope’s hand. “We have more need of her here than He does in heaven.”
      “What you need, my dear, is a good husband to tame you,” the admiral said, gulping down another swig of wine.
      “I will never marry.” Faith shook her head and gave her father a stern look.
      The admiral huffed. “Don’t be absurd.”
      Sir Wilhelm cleared his throat and exchanged a knowing glance with her father—a glance that sent dread crawling over Faith.
      “If a woman can provide for herself,” she said, “she needn’t subject herself to the tyranny of a man who restricts her freedom and forces his every whim—”
      “As I have informed you, my dear Faith,” her father interrupted, his voice strained to the point of exploding, “should you ever find yourself in possession of so great a fortune, I have promised not to arrange a marriage against your will.” The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed to fold together as he stared at her.
      “Then I hold you to our bargain.” Faith squared her shoulders, daring to hope that she could indeed fulfill her end of it. “If I amass this fortune you speak of, you will force neither me nor my sisters into marriage?”
      “Yes, of course.” The admiral dabbed his mouth with the edge of the tablecloth. “But time runs out. With your mother gone and me so often at sea, I may have no choice but to ensure your future happiness. The sooner you are all married, the better.”
      “And pray tell, Miss Westcott, how do you intend to procure such a fortune?” Sir Wilhelm asked with a hint of sarcasm.
      “I have started a soap-making business, which I can assure you will be quite successful.” Faith stiffened her jaw and focused on her uneaten plate of food.
      
“Which I have yet to see any evidence of, I might add,” the admiral said with a chortle.
      Sir Wilhelm joined in his laughter, and Faith reached for her side where her cutlass normally hung but found only her beaded sash. Not that she would have stabbed the horrid excuse of a man, but it would have been amusing to see his face if she had tried. Instead, she rubbed her fingers over the smooth beads.
      Grace leaned toward Faith, her mouth pinched in concern. “Marriage is a blessed union of God and should be honored.”
      With a sigh, Faith returned a gentle smile to her sister. Sweet Grace. So young and naive, but with such a heart of gold. Faith sometimes wished she had been born with so agreeable a nature. But alas, that was not to be. “It is a union not meant for all.”
      “Nevertheless,” the admiral began, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his belly, “I believe I have been more than generous with you girls. In the five years since your mother…since your mother has been gone, you could have chosen any one of the fine young men clamoring for your attention in Portsmouth.” He raised a cynical brow toward Faith. “All of them in possession of a good fortune, I might add.”
      “Oh pish, Father. They were naught but pompous bores.”
      The admiral shifted his inquiring gaze to Hope. “And you, my dear?”
      “There were far too many of them. I simply could not choose.” She waved her hand through the air.
      Pursing his lips, he gazed at his youngest daughter. “What say you, fair Grace?”
      Grace played with her fingers in her lap. “Like Faith, I do not wish to marry. The apostle Paul instructs that ’tis best to serve the Lord wholeheartedly without the distractions of a husband.”
      “Ah yes,” the admiral sighed. “Grace’s pursuit of holy living has kept many possible suitors far away, I am afraid. There’s the rub, if you will.” He shifted a stern gaze over his daughters. “I fear my only mistake has been in giving any of you a choice. Despite your fallacious opinions, I made a fine match for your sister Charity, a man of title and wealth. I only delayed in procuring the same for you because of your constant bickering and complaining.”
      “Father.” Faith dropped her fork on her plate with a clang. “Despite his title and wealth, Lord Villement is naught but a—”
      
“Enough!” His roar echoed across the room, silencing all noise save the patter of rain on the window. Then, composing himself, he smiled at Mr. Waite. “So you see my dilemma?”
      Sir Wilhelm’s salacious gaze slithered over Faith. “Not so daunting a dilemma, Admiral, that a bit of parental discipline could not solve.” Then, plunging the last bite of roast between his slimy lips, he patted his stomach. “Delicious.”
      The admiral poured himself another glass of wine and slowly sipped it as the maids came with pudding and tea. His eyes began to glass over. Shame instantly dissolved Faith’s fury. She had upset and embarrassed her father again—and in front of guests. Perhaps it would be better if she excused herself, along with her sisters.
      She pushed back her chair, the scrape of wood only adding to her annoyance. “Mr. Waite, you seem like a fine man—,” she began, intending to apologize for her brash behavior.
      “I am happy to hear it, Faith,” her father interrupted. “Because I am making him guardian over you and your sisters until I return from Spain.”
      Mr. Waite set his teacup onto the saucer. “With all due respect, Admiral, I must refuse the honor, sir.” He sat straight in his chair and met the admiral’s gaze head-on.
      “Refuse?” The admiral slowly rose, his face reddening, his tone filled with incredulity.
      “Our guardian?” Faith could not believe her ears. “We do not need a guardian, Father. We have Lucas and Edwin. They can watch over us.”
      “I think it is a fine idea,” Hope added, fluttering her lashes.
      “Why ask a complete stranger?” A sultry grin spread over Sir Wilhelm’s mouth as his gaze swept over Faith. “It is obvious he protests. I would be honored to protect the ladies in your absence, Admiral.” He pulled a jeweled snuffbox from his pocket and snorted a pinch of dark powder up one nostril.
      Faith shuddered.
      The admiral loosened his white cravat. “Nay, you have far too many responsibilities, Sir Wilhelm, plus your other involvement with this family.”
      “What involvement?” Faith demanded.
      Mr. Waite shifted his stance and gave the admiral a level stare. “Admiral, might I suggest you choose from one of the local gentry? I am
sure there are many willing and trustworthy young men.”
      The admiral snorted and shook his head, a frown marring his leathery skin. “Do you take me for a fool, Waite? I have searched far and wide through this forsaken outpost, but there is no one else I trust with the safety of my daughters save you.” He scratched his thick sideburns and gave the commander such a look of disappointment that Faith nearly melted by proximity. But Mr. Waite held his ground, his eyes locked upon her father’s, his stern expression unflinching.
      “But I see you will let me down. Very well.” The admiral waved a hand at Mr. Waite as if dismissing him.
      Faith had to admit she felt relieved herself. The last thing she needed was a pirate hunter living at the house. But something was afoot between her father and Sir Wilhelm, and she intended to discover what it was.