A Woman Made for Sin (12 page)

For this was the last afternoon she intended to sit bored in her room with nothing
to do.

“Miss! Come ’n’ watch us! Tonight we got us a full moon, so we was goin’ to play us
some cards. Ya can see me teach ol’ Swivel Eye Stu a few tricks.”

Aimee came closer and dragged a nearby crate over to use as a seat. “Why, I would
love to join you, Mr. Stuart, along with Mr. Easter and Mr. Linwood, but not to watch.
I would like to join your game.”

Skylark Linwood, nicknamed for the tunes he could play, grimaced. Swivel Eye nudged
him with his elbow. “Come on, Skylark. ’Twould make it more fun to play with four
till the others get up ’ere.”

Linwood’s frown only grew more severe. Thin and wiry, he had a long neck and a protruding
Adam’s apple. “I don’t mind playin’ wid ya, miss, if ya knew da game, but as ya don’t,
it might be best for ya to watch.”

Aimee nodded. “I agree, Mr. Linwood. But it may be that I know how to play, for I
am knowledgeable of the rules to several games. My friends and I play them regularly.
Of course, I am not the master my best friends are, but I have learned a few of their
tricks this past year. I would love to apply them amongst seasoned players.”

“Ya don’t have any stakes though.”

Aimee’s green eyes flashed. “You forget that I’ve seen you play before, Mr. Linwood.
You play for duties, not funds.”

“Miss, ya have no chores to be givin’ us and ya knows that we’re not goin’ to be givin’
you ours,” said Swivel Eye Stu.

“True. How about if I lose, then I owe you a portrait.” Aimee frowned, pretending
to think hard. “And if I win, you have to teach me about what you do.”

Tom Easter cocked a brow and folded his arms. “I ain’t bloody teachin’ anybody a bloody
damn thing.”

Aimee studied the most normal-looking of all the seamen. He was average size in bulk
and height. He even had brown hair and brown eyes. In Town, nothing about him would
have made him memorable, but on the ship, his normalcy made him stand out. “Mr. Easter,
I thank you for the compliment. You must believe that I will win.”

Swivel Eye Stu slapped his knee. A thin man with a wandering left eye, he talked fast,
moved fast, and tended to nick himself shaving. “Aw, miss, Bloody Tom might be thinkin’
that, but I sure ain’t!”

An hour later, Aimee laid down her cards with a smile. More men had joined the games,
and she had lost several hands but had won quite a few too. And while she intended
to pay her debts, she also intended to collect what was due her.

“Ahh, my lady, you are quite the strategist. It is not often I find someone who can
match my skills.”

Aimee politely shrugged. The crew called him Englishman, mostly due to his proper
speech, but Digby Miller reminded her of Reece a few years ago. He was smart, young,
and hardworking. He also aspired to become a captain and like Reece, he intended to
remain unmarried. “Mr. Miller, I shall enjoy our lesson.”

The group had grown too large to play cards anymore, so Swivel Eye Stu put them away.
Aimee leaned back against the side of the ship and asked, “Mr. Solomon, how is it
that you were given the name Red Legs? Your pants are dark, like the others.”

“That’s cuz his name has nothin’ to do with his pants,” said Skylark Linwood.

Swivel Eye Stu nodded. “Aye, ’ol Red Legs was late one day ’n’ wakin’ up. He ran so
fast he was on deck ’fore he realized he forgot his pants. The bosun refused to let
him go get ’em. And so his white legs turned bright red in the sun. You should have
seen ’em.”

Solomon scowled at Linwood and Swivel Eye. “Hurt like hell, too. Never would’ve thought
the sun could cause a man to feel such pain. Somethin’ you might be careful of, miss.
The sun on deck can be a mighty powerful thing.”

Aimee almost reminded him that she was never up on deck during the day, but decided
against it. “Mr. Miller,” she said, pointing to the mainmast. “How do you raise those
large sails and the ones above them?”

“Different ways. With the capstan, or those”—he pointed to fore-and-aft sails—“the
jibs, staysails, and spanker are pulled up using a line that goes up the mast to the
halyard—that perpendicular piece of wood. The lines are connected to a sail’s corners,
which allow the yards to control the sails. We use braces—that rope right there—to
set the angle of the yard so we can catch the wind.”

Aimee followed everything he said. It was difficult in the dark to see all the details,
but the ropes were clear enough in the moonlight, as well as how they were connected
to the mast and yard. “What about those? Are those done the same way?”

Bloody Tom scoffed. “’Ardly.”

“No, my lady. Those are too high and must be set by climbing into the rigging.”

“I am guessing that responsibility is not yours.”

The Englishman’s eyes grew large. “No, my lady. None of us can do that work. Only
the rigger’s willing to work that high.”

“Only
one
person?” Aimee asked for clarification.

“Both the sailmakers also climb the masts to help when needed, but no one else does.”

Aimee sighed, looking up at the sail at the very top, thinking that she could climb
that high and not be scared. It was one of the few truly adventurous things that she
could do better than Millie or Jennelle.

October 17, 1816

“Mr. Willnon?” Aimee asked as she poked her head down into the opening that led to
the lowest point on the ship. It was also one of the foulest smelling. “Are you in
here?”

She saw the flame from the lantern first and then a stooped, round-faced man appeared.
His shape and form reminded her of a well-fed nobleman, but unlike those she knew
with Dudley’s proportions, he had energy and worked hard. Dark hair grew everywhere
she could see—his forearms, beard, even his knuckles—just not on his head.

“My lady, you shouldn’t be down ’ere.”

Aimee smiled. Most of the seamen were gruff with her when she caught them unawares,
but she knew it was more an act for their fellow shipmates than real anger. Dudley
Willnon was an exception, perhaps because he was happily married and everyone he worked
with knew it.

“Mr. Willnon, what is this place?” Aimee asked, continuing to stay just outside the
small area.

“The bilge.”

“What is it for? And why does it smell . . . so wet and damp?”

Dudley pointed his finger for her to back up, and she did so happily. He closed the
hatch and made way to move around her, but Aimee stepped into his path. Realizing
she would not move until he answered her question, he grumbled, “What rain don’t go
off the deck and back into the sea, eventually comes here. The weight can make it
safer in rough weather, but too much slows us down.”

“So what do you do when too much water collects down here?”

Dudley tensed his jaw. His mother had taught him better than to talk about something
like bilges to any female. “Me lady, is there somethin’ you need?”

Aimee pursed her lips and decided that she knew enough about the bilge from its smell.
Besides, she had other reasons to meet with Dudley, and this was the first opportunity
she’d had to observe him at night, for normally he worked the day shifts.

She lifted up her hand so that he could see the two palm-sized ovals she held. Dudley
moved the lantern closer and saw that they were portraits of Swivel Eye Stu and Gilley—two
of the sorrier-looking men on the
Sea Emerald
.

“I did these this morning. Do you think they will like them?”

Aimee shifted her hand so he could take a better look. Both men looked like who they
were, and yet she had drawn them as they would have looked if given the clothes and
the funds. They almost looked like gentlemen. Even in the dark shadows of the inner
hull, Aimee could see Dudley was not just surprised but impressed.

“Blimey,” he muttered. “Do they know? That they look like . . . that . . . ?”

Aimee shook her head. “Not at this time, though I do plan to give them their portraits
later. If you recall, I lost a couple of games playing cards with them and this is
my payment. I owe you as well, Mr. Willnon. I thought I would create something similar
for you to give to your wife.”

Dudley’s face broke out into a very large grin and she knew that she was on the verge
of achieving what she came down here to do. She had purposely started with the two
hardest men to draw, but the most willing to talk and teach her. But as ordinary seamen,
it had not taken very long before Stu and Gilley had divulged as much as she wanted
to know on how to keep the ship clean and in working order. Aimee was far more interested
in the rigging, sail-making, and how to work the ship. That was the work of able-bodied
seamen.

“Me wife,” Dudley repeated aloud, his eyes shining with the idea. “Would you, me lady?
Just tell me what I need to do and when. And I’ll be there.”

Shaking her head, Aimee slipped the two portraits back into the side pocket of her
dress. “No need, Mr. Willnon. I can get all I need when I join you on your shift right
now.”

“Did you say
join
me?”

Aimee nodded. “I’ll shadow you, not for the whole time, but just enough for me to
get an understanding of what you do.”

The line of his mouth tightened a fraction more. “Now what do you want to learn a
sailor’s job for? Not like you’re going to do it.”

Aimee stifled the desire to stomp her foot like Millie did in times of frustration.
“Your captain and chief mate do not do the things you do either, but they know them.”

“That’s because they’re the captain and the chief. You’re . . . a . . . well, a woman.
Females shouldn’t know such things.”

“Mr. Willnon, that is simply a ridiculous statement invented to protect the pride
of a man. Besides, we had an agreement when we played cards the other night.”

For a long moment, Dudley just looked at Aimee. He had no idea just what all those
fancy words meant, but he was fairly certain that she had taken exception to his comment.
“How was I supposed to know you was serious?”

“About learning the ship? Yes, I am quite serious. I know very little about ships,
and as I am on one, and will be for several more weeks, I would like to end my ignorance.
Regardless of my reasons, you are indebted to me to share your knowledge, and as an
honorable man, I am sure you will settle this matter by letting me join you on your
shift.”

Dudley’s eyes had grown dark and insolent, and Aimee realized she might have just
pushed the kind man too far with her speech. “Mr. Willnon, please help me. Do you
never wish that your wife better understood your passion for sailing and the sea?”

Dudley twisted his lips and looked at her enigmatically. Finally, he gave her a single
nod.

Aimee’s face brightened and she continued. “I have a problem, Mr. Willnon. I suspect
everyone aboard the ship has been told about my feelings for Mr. Hamilton, but he
still views me as the little girl I once was. He believes I am fragile and soft and
come from a life that prevents me from understanding who he is. I need to prove to
him that I understand his world—that it is gritty, hard, and oftentimes uncomfortable—and
that I appreciate it and even sometimes want to join it. I do not need to be pampered
to be happy. And I am not a weak female who needs to be protected. But he will never
believe me unless I can prove to him otherwise.”

Dudley’s eyes shifted from stony to gentle and contemplative.
Damn good argument
, he thought to himself.

No one had to tell him about her feelings for the captain, for it was obvious. She
would often look to the place the captain stood when he was on the upper deck. And
if she really was the one who created all the consternation whenever they had to go
to London, then it was clear the captain loved her in return. And Dudley had no doubt
she was indeed that person. Many of the men were falling for her, and he might have
too, if he were not already fully enamored of his wife. Regardless, all understood
she belonged to the captain—even if he was the only one who did not realize it.

Dudley felt himself giving in. “You won’t be interferin’? Slowin’ me down? Chatterin’
on about nonsense?”

A satisfied light crept into Aimee’s green eyes. “I promise.”

Dudley grabbed one of her wrists and pulled it into the light. “And these?”

Aimee raised her chin and said nothing.

The skin on her wrists was new and pink, but in a few more days the bright color would
dim, leaving white scars. Dudley did not like to think about the captain seeing them.
They alone would probably keep Aimee from ever setting another foot on a ship. Though
her quest was doomed, Dudley refused to be part of the reason Aimee thought she had
failed. “Don’t tell any of the other men.”

“I won’t say a thing,” she promised and followed him out of the inner hull.

Before the end of the shift, there was not a seaman—ordinary or able-bodied—who did
not know Dudley was telling Aimee all about what he was doing and why. As a result,
the men were more willing to not just let her repay what she owed them, but settle
their debts as well. It was as if she was the first person to be interested in learning
from them rather than telling them how to do their jobs.

Now she just needed to convince the crew members who did not owe her anything to talk
to her as well.

Millie sat down and opened the third and last trunk Elda Mae had sent to her. It had
taken nearly three days for her maid to get the message and send the items. In truth,
it was a remarkably short time, but to Millie it had felt like forever. Once she had
made the decision to stop waiting for Chase to deal with her mistakes, she wanted
to begin immediately. She could have gone to her father for funds, but it was likely
that he would want explanations—or alert Chase to her unusual request.

One by one Millie pulled out and discarded items. Her old nursemaid had been fastidious
and had done exactly as requested. She had packed
everything
Millie had left behind. That was the only way Millie knew to prevent Elda Mae from
becoming suspicious. For if she had asked for only the few items she was truly interested
in, Elda Mae would have arrived with the trunks, and then there would have been no
way Millie could have enacted her plan.

She reached in and sighed with relief as her fingertips clasped the dark burgundy
velvet cloak Madame Sasha had made for her last spring when it was still cold at night.
She spread it wide over the floor and then reached into the trunk to pull out the
last item she needed to venture into a place where a woman of her rank would never
be found.

On the bottom was a small, old locked chest with gold filigree roses decorating the
cedarwood. Her father had requisitioned it for her mother when they moved to Wareham
and purchased Abileen Rose. Her mother had loved roses and had planted them all around
the estate. Millie lightly fingered the item before confirming the small revolver
was still inside. Then she placed it on the ground beside her cloak.

Starting at one end, she pressed the hem, feeling for bulk. Finding none, she continued
along the edge until she heard a soft crumpling sound. She grabbed the scissors on
her dressing table and carefully cut the thread that hid the concealed papers. At
the snap of the last string, out flew nearly a hundred pounds. Only a tiny fraction
of that was needed to get her to London, but she may need more for her plan to work.

Every
thing
she needed was here. Now she just needed every
one
—each in their own way.

Anxious to get started, Millie laid out a traveling outfit and threw together a light
trunk of personal items along with her plainest garments. Next, she sat down and quickly
scribed three notes. The first was to Jennelle, telling her to expect her arrival.
The second was to her father, explaining that he was indeed right. Sitting and waiting
when she could take action to solve her problems would only bring her unhappiness.
She just hoped Chase would understand and eventually accept that for her to be happy,
she had to be free to be herself.

The last note was an entreaty to the one person who might understand and support her
idea—Madame Sasha, who was much more than just a gifted modiste.

“Damn Chaselton, damn his title, damn his wife, and damn everything he holds dear,”
muttered a deformed figure looming over what turned out to be an incomplete replica
of the first map in the series. He should have known when he grabbed the item that
the vellum felt much too pliable to be a relic nearly eight hundred years old.

His warped hand crumpled the reproduction and threw it into the hearth, snarling at
the smell of burning animal skin. He had been followed tonight and had almost been
caught. The runner was more skilled than most of his kind, but he had not been trained
by someone like him—a master in lies, deception, and spying. He had trained Chaselton
himself, and should have predicted that his one-time protégé would make such a clever
move.

Tonight’s misstep had just confirmed what the marquess probably had only suspected—that
the targets were the unusual maps purchased by chance last year. Then again, the withered
man thought as he tapped a finger against his chin, maybe it was not chance that placed
the maps in his enemy’s hands, but fate. He wanted it to be Chaselton. Who better
to provide the means to destroy him?

Chaselton might have been lucky and thwarted him once, but he would not do so a second
time. He had no doubt that one, maybe two, of the nine maps were on the
Sea Emerald.
He had the one from the offices of W & H Shipping near the docks, as well as the
ones off the
Intrepid
and the
Sea Rebel.
Last night, he had successfully found another in Reece Hamilton’s empty townhome.
That left three more, which were most likely hidden away at Hembree Grove. And while
Chaselton might now know that the maps were being stolen, he still had no idea why
they were of value. Both he and his partner, Reece Hamilton, still thought they were
related to sea navigation and would continue along the path of such misguidance until
it was too late.

“Ah, Chaselton. You may be aware that you have an unusual thief on your hands. You
even now know what is being stolen, but you do not know
why
. This time, only I have the answer.”