Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) (20 page)

“So, you’re an American by birth?”

“Aye, from Boston, sir,” Jack replied.

“And the captain of a private merchantman ferrying goods and produce to and from the Indies. Is it a slave ship?” The brusque officer scrutinized him with severity. “The Abolition of the Slave Trade Act states that any captain transporting illegal human cargo is subject to fines of one hundred twenty pounds per person.”

“Lord Greystowe is a member of parliament, sir,” Jack replied respectfully. “He would hardly direct me to trespass against a bill he worked so strenuously with Mr. Wilberforce to see passed by both houses just last year. It would be a black mark on his character to then make use of slave labor on his plantation. My lord uses indentures from the prisons as his work force.”

“The Act does not affect slaves already laboring on the plantations, merely the transport of new ones.” Captain Maxwell rose up on his heels, as if trying to stand taller as he was dwarfed by Jack’s impressive height and form. “Now, Captain Rawlings, we will return you to your ship so that you may prepare your trunks. Is two hours time sufficient to make ready?”

“Aye, sir. Once I have delivered Mrs. O’Donovan safely to her uncle’s home, I will need to return to my vessel so we may make the return voyage to St. Kitts to attend Lord Greystowe and his family. How shall I be able to return to my ship, sir?”

“Give my name to any English officer in any tavern in Cadiz, Rawlings.” He folded the papers, returned them to the leather packet, and then slapped them into Jack’s hand. “I will instruct my men to watch for you and see you safely to your berth at your request.” 

The old captain stepped closer to Chloe. His fierce, wide-set eyes studied her critically.

She stood ram-rod stiff before him, holding her breath, for indeed, she feared he might see through their charade.

“Madame, I am sorry for the loss of your husband and your infant.” He bowed before her, and she offered him her hand.

He held it, kindly, gently, cupping her gloved member between his own large, knotted fingers. “I have a daughter back in Bristol, married, with two young boys. For fathers everywhere, I cannot help but give you a stern warning. This country in which you seek refuge is unstable. My advice, gentle lady, is that you return to London. Were you my daughter, I would forbid this excursion. Reconsider, madame, for your own safety.”

“I cannot,” she whispered in a choked tone, on the point of tears. This man, this stranger who had just spent the last hour interrogating Captain Rawlings was now speaking to her with kindness and concern. It stirred a yearning for her father’s tenderness. Juan Ramirez was no longer here to offer his love, but his brother was beyond the English blockade, just miles within her reach. After coming all this way, she would not turn back.

“Madame.” Captain Maxwell offered her his handkerchief. He pulled it from his waistcoat and pressed it firmly into her hand. “You are a brave woman. Foolish, but most brave people are fools or they would not proceed as they do. Do not cry, gentle lady. You will be safe within the walls of Cadiz. I am here to guarantee it.”

“Good work.” Jack patted her arm when they were delivered to the
Pegasus
. “The crying. It’s always a good ploy with a man, strikes at his heart. Remember that.”

“I was not pretending,” she informed him hotly. “I was caught up in the emotion of his words, remembering my own dear papa, and that he is no more.”

“Pardon me.” Jack said as he hurried to his cabin. “Be ready quickly; our escort awaits.”

Two hours later, they were rowed to the quay by crew members from Captain Maxwell’s ship. Chloe had her two trunks and Marta with her. Jack had a small knapsack and valise. He brought Mr. Jenkins and Lt. Morgan, introducing them as his valet and his footman. He instructed the crew to await him here, but to slip further out to sea after midnight and maintain a watch for his signal that it was safe to come close to Cadiz once more and rendezvous with him and his men.

Chapter Seventeen

Lined with palm trees, the main square just past the wharf was full of people.

Chloe couldn’t help herself, she stared incredulously at the spectacle before her.

Spanish women were everywhere. They hurried about in flowing peasant skirts with children trailing after them. Men meandered the crowds, too. Some were on horseback, Spanish nobles and British soldiers. Fruit, vegetable, bread and flower stands lined the walkway. Fresh fish, the catch of the day, was piled on the back of a wagon.

“Stay close, Mrs. O'Donovan.” Jinx admonished. He took her arm, pulling her along behind the captain, who seemed to have no interest in the human drama before him as he strode past the stalls and through the throng. It was market day in the square, a similar event in any city he might visit. And yet, for Chloe, this was not just any other city.

The vibrant sounds of Cadiz embraced her senses: children’s voices at play, donkeys braying, and the click-click-click of heels on the cobbled street. She heard the chatter of women as they gossiped, exchanged news, or bartered with the vendors. It was a vibrant place after her long voyage. Sailing with a crew of men had made her realize how much she missed female companionship. She missed Elizabeth most of all.

Shoving aside her melancholy over missing her friend, Chloe couldn’t help gazing about with wonder. The market was also burgeoning with men, a few in British uniforms.

A wild clucking and screeching came from behind them. Chloe started and clutched at her chest, turning on her heels to discover the source of the peculiar noise. A large dog was upsetting a cage of chickens, snuffling at them like a hunter and making them dance frantically and beat their wings in the cage to get away from his drooling jaws. The owner of the chickens, a stout matron as wide as she was high, shooed the dog away from her poultry stand with a broom  and much cursing, Spanish cursing! 

It finally came to her. She was
home
, in Spain, her father’s birthplace.

“Are you coming?” Captain Rawlings turned about from several feet ahead of them. His tall, blond form stood out in the marketplace, as most of the people milling about had darker complexions and hair. As an American in the port of Cadiz, he was now the stranger, not she.

“Aye, Cap’n.” Mr. Jinx answered for her. “Come, my lady, Let’s follow the captain.”

Marta’s mood was much the same as Chloe’s. She could see the girl was amazed by the bustling activity and by the Spanish feel of the city. This was not London, with the grubby streets near the wharf that were coated with coal dust, offal and horse dung. This perfect city square was neat, clean, and full of people dressed in colorful outfits. Bright red, orange, and yellow skirts swirled about, patches of color in a crowd of Spanish beauty. There were a few wealthy women among them, but most were shopkeepers, merchants, housewives and fisherman. It was so much like the port of Basseterre, in St. Kitts, and yet, it was not---there were too many new things to capture the eye.

A man in a broad straw hat sat cross-legged in the shade, strumming a guitar for the passersby. The song he sang was of a Spanish lady. A woman beside him in a bright yellow dress danced and clapped little castanets in her hand to keep time with the guitarist. No one seemed to feel the woman's behavior was inappropriate. No one shunned her. All were smiling at her and some waved as they passed the couple by. They were welcome in the square. People threw coins into the small bowl as a form of praise for the musician's efforts. 

Chloe started when a hand seized her elbow from behind. She glanced up into the smiling face of Captain Jack Rawlings. “My lady, if you wish to make your uncle’s villa by sunset, you must stop gawking at the crowd and come with me.”

“Did you get directions to Casa del Amico?” she asked, uncertain if the man knew Spanish. She’d not thought to ask until now.

“Yes, we’ve made arrangements for a carriage to take you there,” Jack informed her. “It’s just this way, if you can pull your lovely eyes from the local scenery and move across the square. See, there’s Morgan there, waiting with your trunks. Are you ready, ma’am, or would you wish for me to buy you a sweetmeat at the farmer’s market before we adjourn to your uncle’s home?”

“No, thank you.” She could not help smiling at his jest. She wasn’t a child, yet she was acting like one, bedazzled by the sights and sounds of the marketplace. “Is it far to Uncle Miguel’s home?”

“Just a few narrow turns. The driver assures me he knows the way.”

Chloe allowed him to escort her through the square to the waiting carriage and driver. Lt. Morgan was there, his perfect white teeth bared to greet her in an amused smile. He was young enough to enjoy the festive feel in the air and not be suspicious of mere shadows. He helped Chloe into the carriage. Marta was handed in beside her. The captain joined them, taking his seat across from them and when they were settled he rapped on the roof.

They were dusty and rumpled from their journey, first being rowed to shore by English sailors and then wandering through the docks to the marketplace. Chloe wished she could change before she went directly to her uncle’s home, as she must appear common indeed in a plain muslin gown and a straw bonnet that was without decoration or appeal. She’d been concerned about the saltwater ruining her new gowns, as the row boats were so low to the water. She touched the pale blue gown, one of her old ones from Ravencrest, and sighed. The last two inches of the skirt were wet, and had sand caked on them from being wet and then walking through the wharf and the marketplace. She had the appearance of a servant, or worse, a poor relation begging for a room. A grand entrance would have to wait until she could unpack her lovely gowns and have them pressed.

The carriage moved through narrow cobblestone streets, turning and winding until Chloe lost all sense of direction.  In some places, it barely fit through the passage between buildings they called a road. Towering brick and stone facades on either side blocked out the view of the sun or sky. It seemed a crowded place. There were no sweeping vistas of the countryside or the sea, as she was accustomed to at Ravencrest plantation. This was an island city built upon stone and the clever Spanish seemed to have made use of each inch of space allotted them. She missed the verdant foliage of the Indies she’d become accustomed to seeing from her window or the garden, the vibrant greens and the vibrant flowers that decorated the landscape of her island home.

“Is the heat too much for you?” The captain asked, seeming to sense her change of mood.

“No. I’m fine,” She lied, unwilling to admit her fatigue or her uneasiness at being trapped between the high walls of this unusual city.

At last, they seemed to have left the tight confines of the narrow streets. A large paved plaza opened before them, a plaza lined by stately trees. The buildings reminded Chloe of the London townhouses she’d driven past. They had similar architecture, and yet, the buildings were decidedly different.
Pink
brick and pale white stone made up the houses lining this square. The doors had marble columns and tall, grandiose entrance doors, signifying a wealthier residence then the earlier streets they passed through.

“Here we are,” Rawlings said as the carriage drew to a halt before a majestic building opposite the stunning-copper domed cathedral she'd spied from the decks of the
Pegasus
. “That is Santa Cruz Church. Your uncle’s town house is opposite it, according to the driver. Wait here, I’ll knock on the door and make sure dear Uncle Miguel is at home.” He exited the carriage.

Chloe huffed with impatience. He did seem to be taking this escort business too seriously. She wanted to jump down from the carriage like a little girl and go rushing up to the door, lift the brass knocker and rush into her Uncle’s startled arms. She wasn’t a girl, and Uncle Miguel may not have even heard of her existence, for all she knew. It was infuriating to be so constrained by social decorum when her heart wanted to fly into the welcoming arms of her father’s brother. Jack was being cautious. It seemed his nature to question everything, to scan the horizon for any possible clouds that mar the sun.

“I am sorry,” Jack murmured moments later as they stood in the grand foyer surrounded by marble columns,
pink
marble columns that must have cost the family a fortune. “He’s not in residence here, my dear.”

“We’ve come so far,” she said, fully aware she sounded like a petulant child. Her hands were fists at her side. Chloe gaped about her at the opulence of the Casa del Amico, the home of her Uncle, the Marquis del Amico. “Will they not put us up here? Marta and I must have a place to stay. When will uncle return?”

“The house boy is finding the housekeeper. She went out this afternoon, to some ladies circle at the church across the street. He’ll be back in a moment.”

“And in the mean time, we are to stand in the foyer like beggars? Like shopkeepers awaiting her ladyship’s pleasure? My lady the countess would never treat a relative so, nor would her household staff. I am his niece, Jack! The only daughter of Juan—"

A thin, regal woman dressed in black came scurrying across the marble floor, her heels clacking and echoing in the vast expanse of open foyer. “Perdon!” She rushed to Chloe and took her hands, speaking in rapid Spanish. "Juan’s girl. From America?” The woman’s thin, narrow face was full of astonishment. “We hoped he would return to us. Your papa, is he well?”

“My father died years ago,” Chloe replied in Spanish. “And I am recently widowed.”

“Poor dear. Come, come. We will settle you. And these men, they are your servants?” The woman peered anxiously at Jack, Lt. Morgan and Jinx. “You require rooms for them as well?”

“Captain Rawlings is an old acquaintance of my husband’s. He was charged with escorting me safely here.” Chloe gestured to Jack, who was hanging back, leaning against a column in a leisurely posture, his arms crossed as he watched the exchange in silence. She knew he understood Spanish, at least some Spanish, for he was able to find them a carriage and obtain directions to her uncle’s house. For some reason, she couldn’t say why, she had the distinct impression that he was trying to pretend otherwise. “Captain,” she said in English, feeling it best to follow his lead. “Will you stay the night or will you and your men be returning to your ship?”