Patricia Potter (26 page)

Lauren allowed herself to think of nothing but her mission. She shoved aside every other thought, need, reservation.

Taking several deep breaths of air, she looked around the deck of the ship. There were only shadows in the dark of the night but she knew every available sailor was on lookout. Adrian, distinctive by his height and stance, was at the wheel with the pilot. There was no noise among the crew members. Words were spoken at a whisper, as though the wind might carry voices to the enemy awaiting them.

The ship was moving slowly, and Lauren was aware the
Specter
was at half-speed as the crew waited for high tide to make its dash into Charleston. When she felt the engines increasing speed, she would visit the furnace room. Just a few hours now.

Lauren didn’t know how long she stood there clutching the railing before the movement of the ship accelerated. The throb of her heart did the same. They were beginning the run into Charleston. She looked around to see whether any eyes were on her. Surely someone would suspect, should suspect, but all eyes were focused seaward.

Her heart in her throat, she moved woodenly toward the hatch leading down, pausing at its door for a miracle, a reprieve. But there was only the dark night, the pounding of engines, the rhythm of the paddles.

Lauren climbed down and made her way down the corridor until she reached the engine room. Four men were shoveling coal while two stood by, apparently taking a few moments’ respite. Their clothing and faces were almost completely covered by coal dust, and sweat was running in streaks down their necks.

The room was miserably hot, and she wondered how they stood it. She looked at the shafts that drove the paddles. Just one disabled shaft would be enough to cripple the
Specter.

Will turned and winked, acknowledging her presence. She half-expected to be ordered out. She hoped she would be. But he merely yelled over to her, “Want to see her go at a run?”

She nodded.

One of the other men grinned as she moved toward one of the paddle-wheel shafts and leaned against it.

The men all turned back to their individual jobs. Mouthing a fervent prayer she was doing the right thing, she loosened the drawstring around the reticule and turned slightly, using her body to shield her hands from eyes that might move back to her. The machinery was unprotected, the sand flowing easily from her small bag into the shaft.

Lauren felt the heat now, heat so intense that she almost fainted. Heat that came from more than one source. She knew her face was shiny red, and she straightened, almost falling in the effort. One of the men saw her uncertain movements and quickly came to her, his hand steadying her.

This must be what hell is like, she thought suddenly. She felt herself being moved, almost like a puppet, toward the hatch. Once outside, her lungs grabbed for air, fighting to breathe, fighting the constriction in her throat.

“Miss … ?”

She looked up at the man. Her own dress now was coated with black from his hands. She felt as if she were wearing a scarlet letter like in the book she’d tried to read all afternoon. Would it ever come off?

Lauren leaned against the wall. “I’m fine now,” she whispered. “I just got a little warm. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, miss. Can I ‘elp you back to the cabin … or above for some air? Cabin’s most fitting place for you, though. We’re getting close to Charleston.”

She nodded. “I’m fine now. You go back.”

He looked at her dubiously. “You sure, miss? The captain would have my berth if aught were to ‘appen to you.”

She managed a weak smile. “Yes, I’m sure.” To prove it, she took several steps, feeling stronger with each one. When she looked back, he grinned and turned, disappearing into the engine room.

Lauren hesitated at the cabin that she knew Adrian had been sharing with Wade. Was Socrates there? She needed someone, a companion to talk to. Even a monkey. Perhaps best a monkey.

She knocked first, even knowing both the first officer and Adrian were topside, then opened the door. Socrates looked up from a mess of clothing on the floor. He was, apparently, making a nest of some kind. But on seeing her, he sped over to Lauren, holding out his arms as he had done before, cackling gleefully.

“Why don’t you come with me, Socrates?”

He nodded, as if understanding perfectly, and they left the tiny cabin and went to Adrian’s slightly larger one. Lauren slumped down on the bed, exhausted and hot and consumed by raw anguish.

Socrates huddled next to her, as if trying to fathom a pain he sensed but didn’t understand.

And she waited for the inevitable, her heart cracking a little wider at each groan of the ship.

CHAPTER 14

Adrian heard the low call, “Sail ho,” just as he glimpsed the white sail.

The Union Navy had steamers, but most of the blockade fleet was still composed of sailing ships: easy to see, easy to outrun. The Union obviously depended on numbers to do its work.

He still had the wheel and would continue to have it until just before they reached Charleston.

Adrian prayed that the enemy hadn’t yet seen them. The hunter had white sails silhouetted against a black night, whereas the
Specter’s
graceful gray hull showed only about eight feet above the waterline. Only anthracite coal was burned, leaving a mere wisp of smoke, and steam was blown off under water to stifle the noise. The engine room hatchways were now screened with tarpaulin; even the binnacle was covered and, in order to see the dimly lit compass, Adrian had to peer through a conical aperture.

He changed direction away from the sails. He had some time before they should start the run into Charleston. He would circle around and then set course to spurt between forts Moultrie and Sumter. Those were the trickiest moments. And although he had a dark night, he prayed for night fog, which would further cloak the
Specter
’s movements.

As the enemy sails disappeared out of sight, Adrian momentarily allowed his thoughts to return to Lauren. She’d been tense earlier as she stood on the deck. He didn’t think it was the prospect of entering Charleston, for he had seen her exhilaration before when she’d watched the
Specter
outrun the Union patrol boats. He had suspected then that he loved her. She touched the core of him as no one else ever had, that moment when her hair flew free with the wind and water splashed against her, plastering her dress against the shapely figure. She’d smiled, a smile full of wonder and excitement, and he’d had to catch his breath. She was a woman who would always take chances, who wasn’t bound by convention and rules, although she was still finding her way.

He grinned as he remembered her first reaction to Socrates, the whimsical curtsy when most women would shy away with fear, and the day on the beach when she’d dug her toes in the sand like a child given her first piece of candy.

And then the smile faded as he recalled the expression on her face in the cabin earlier. He had the most disconcerting feeling that there was something he should know, should understand …

“Captain?”

He turned.

“Another sail, sir.”

He turned all his attention to the sea. They could expect continual sightings until they reached the quay in Charleston. This was no time for romantic musings.

They were all looking now for dim lights around the coast, lights manned by the Confederate States Signal Corps to guide them in. The lights were dim, so they wouldn’t assist the Union Navy and expose the runners, but still visible enough to penetrate the utter darkness of the coast.

Johnny was the first to sight the lights, and from now on he would direct the
Specter
’s run. Adrian gestured for a man to approach. “Tell Dicken to go down and look after our passenger. She’s not to come up.” Adrian remembered only too well the last hours of the man who’d been wounded on deck.

The seaman nodded and disappeared.

They were now scarcely ten miles from the entrance into Charleston. There was no fog, and Adrian had to decide whether to go ahead and begin the run or wait. Both courses presented dangers. The longer they stayed in these waters, the more likely they would be sighted, but the fog would greatly diminish the threat on the actual run.

But they had speed, speed that few of the Union ships had, and most of the Union gunners had yet to master their skill in hitting the fast blockade runners. “We go,” Adrian said, and whispered into a tube that went down into the engine room, “Three-quarters speed.”

The tempo of the engines increased.

“Ship starboard,” a man reported, and Adrian looked at Johnny who nodded. “Hard aport.”

They seemed to slip by unnoticed, but then there was another ship ahead. At that moment, Adrian felt a change in the sound of the engines, a hesitation. “Will?” The word was whispered down the tube.

“Something’s wrong with the starboard paddle wheel, sir.”

Adrian cursed to himself. The loss of one of the paddle wheels would send the ship in circles, and the timing couldn’t be worse. They were in the middle of the blockading fleet now, and he was carrying some of the most important cargo of the war. And then there was Lauren.

“Cut engines,” he said, hoping the dark night would render them invisible until repairs could be made; they had to be made before morning.

Adrian tensed and felt the apprehension of the others around him. There was always a danger of steam blowing when engines were unexpectedly stopped, but silence followed. Complete silence.

He gave orders to Wade, and then ducked behind the tarpaulins covering the hatchways down to the engine room. Will was sweating profusely as he checked the gauges.

“Something’s fouled the wheel,” he said. “Don’t know what in the blazes it could be.”

“Can you fix it?”

“We’ll have to take the bloody thing apart.”

“Do it,” Adrian said tersely, and left to go back above. His fabled luck was certainly failing him now. He thought of his pistol in the footlocker in his cabin; it was the only weapon they had. And he thought of Lauren. “Bloody hell,” he swore. He had to tell her of the danger they faced now.

Quick steps took him to the cabin, and he knocked impatiently before opening the door. Dicken was inside, looking uncomfortable in the chair at the table. Lauren was sitting with Socrates at her side, but she started to rise when she saw him. He shook his head, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder. “I can’t stay. I wanted you to know we’re having some engine trouble … to assure you I won’t … allow you to be hurt.”

Her face didn’t change expression. It was set and still, like the face of a statue. The hazel eyes were larger than he’d noticed before, and their depths were whirling with emotion, like swarming clouds in a stormy sky. Once more he wasn’t able to fathom them. He leaned down, his lips touching her cold ones, and he felt her shiver. “It’ll be all right, Lauren,” he said. “I swear.” He went to his footlocker, opened it, and took out the pistol.

“You can’t,” he heard her whisper. “You said …”

“I won’t use it,” he tried to reassure her. But it gave him some sense of control. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, allow anything to happen to her. He tucked the gun in his trousers and took a jacket from the locker, pulling it on and buttoning it to cover the pistol. “Dicken, stay here with her.”

Dicken nodded.

Adrian hesitated, taking one last look at her white face. “Take care of Socrates.”

Lauren moved as if to rise. “Can’t I go with you?”

He grinned suddenly. “I’m afraid I don’t need any distractions now, and I don’t want to worry about the imp here. Or you. Please?”

Her face seemed to break then, and he wanted to touch her. But he couldn’t. He was needed at the wheel. Still, all the way back, the look on her face haunted him, the grief he saw in her eyes. For him? He shook his head, concentrating all his attention on the problem at hand.

The crew on deck was so still that Adrian could hear their breathing. They stood rigidly, staring out at the blackness around them, listening for voices, for paddle wheels of other ships, for the flap of sails. Apprehension and fear had an odor, and it was evident now. Adrian knew it wasn’t for lack of courage, but born of helplessness, of sitting like a wounded duck with no weapons. What in bloody hell had happened? Will kept the machinery in immaculate condition. What could possibly have fouled the machinery? A seed of suspicion started forming in his mind, but he wiped it away quickly. Impossible!

The sound of engines came to him then, and the pace of his heartbeat increased. A flare went up, and then another, and he saw a ship just in front, and then another to the starboard. Every man on deck was outlined in the garish light. He heard shouts, voices, an order to prepare to fire, and then the roar of cannon as shot went hurling over the bow of the ship.

Adrian turned to Johnny. “Can you swim from here?”

Johnny looked toward the shore and mentally judged the distance. Adrian had had British papers forged for him, and Johnny had practiced an English accent, but too many people knew about him in Nassau, and he could too easily slip into his Carolina twang. If identified, he would spend the rest of the war in prison. “Aye, Captain. Used to swim all the time as a kid.”