The Red Siren (3 page)

F
aith forced the shock from her face at seeing the man whose ship she had once pirated—the man whose ship she still sailed. Perhaps he did not recognize her. Nearly five years had passed, and it had been foggy and dismal that night. If she were still a praying woman, she would pray for no remembrance of her to form in his mind, for if he disclosed her secret, she would face not only her father’s wrath but quite possibly the gallows, as well. Alarm stiffened every nerve as she slunk deeper into the shadows behind the door.
      “Ladies, may I present Mr. Dajon Waite, commander of the HMS
Enforcer
.” The admiral approached his daughters, gestured toward Faith, and then frowned. “Faith, how oft must I impress upon you to put up your hair as befitting a proper young lady? And quit cowering against the wall and come hither to meet Mr. Waite.”
      Faith took a tentative step forward, keeping her gaze on the floor.
      Her father huffed. “Miss Westcott.” Then he gestured toward her sisters. “Miss Hope and Miss Grace.”
      Faith risked a peek at Mr. Waite as he bowed toward all three of them. Then the man opened his mouth as if attempting to say something. Yet not a word proceeded out of it.
      “Does he speak, Father?” Faith asked, eliciting giggles from her sisters.
      Mr. Waite turned a wary gaze upon her, his blue eyes like ice. A barb of unfamiliar fear scraped down her back. Perhaps he was trying to find a way to break the news to the admiral that his daughter was a pirate.
      She looked away as her stomach coiled in a knot.
      The admiral gave Mr. Waite a puzzled look. “He was doing quite nicely before you entered.”
      Mr. Waite’s harsh expression melted, and he puffed a breath as if a
giant ball in his throat had instantly dissolved. His face reddened. “My apologies, ladies. ’Tis a great pleasure to meet you.”
      Hope rushed to him and raised her hand.
      “Oh, Hope, must you throw yourself at every man who enters the house?” Grace shook her head and turned to replace her book in one of the bookcases.
      Ignoring her sister, Hope gave Mr. Waite an alluring smile and fluttered her lashes as he placed a kiss upon her hand. Her low neckline drew his attention, as it did all men’s. Faith winced at her sister’s blatant coquetry. Why was she always seeking the wrong sort of attention? Yet the commander surprised Faith when he quickly averted his eyes and turned to address her. No recognition tinged his features, just a curious admiration.
      
He does not know me.
      Relief blanketed her tight nerves.
      “Father.” Hope’s voice sounded strained. “I hope Mr. Waite’s presence here does not mean you’ll be leaving us again?” She glanced at Mr. Waite. “No disrespect to you, Mr. Waite.”
      Mr. Waite nodded but shifted his stance uncomfortably.
      Jutting out his chin, the admiral stared at the bookcases behind Hope. “I have not received my final orders yet, my dear, but you know my job is upon the sea.”
      “But we have just moved here, Father.” Grace clasped her hands together and took a step toward him. “We hardly know a soul, and the customs are so different than in England.”
      “’Tis a savage place,” Hope added with a snort. “Too frightening for us to be left all alone.” She twirled a lock of hair at her neck, her features scrunched with worry. “And you must introduce us into society, or we shall be terribly bored.”
      Faith studied her father. Muscles of annoyance twitched in his jaw. Yet behind his staunch expression, she detected a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. And she knew. She knew he planned to sail away soon. She knew because she felt the same thrill every time she was about to head out upon the sea. If she and her father were so much alike, then why did he constantly disappoint her?
      He straightened his blue coat and put on the indomitable expression of his position. “There are worse things than boredom, Hope. Besides, you have your sisters to keep you company.”
      
Hope lowered her gaze. “With Mother…with Mother…” She gulped. “And you always at sea, I feel like I am an orphan.”
      “Egad, an orphan who lives in luxury! Have you ever heard of such a thing?” The admiral gave an angry laugh, his face reddening; then he glanced at Mr. Waite, but the commander had turned aside, pretending to examine a brass figurine on the table.
      Grace placed her arm around Hope’s shoulders. “’Tis all right, Hope. Clearly, Father cannot abandon his duty to Britain. And we must always remember that we have a Father in heaven who loves us very much.”
      Hope flattened her lips and stared at the floor.
      Faith touched her father’s arm and met his gaze. “Father, can you not stay a little while longer, just until Hope feels more at ease?” But she already knew his answer. She had long ago learned to live without her father’s presence, as her mother had before her.
      The admiral frowned. A hard sheen covered his brown eyes. He opened his mouth to speak what Faith knew would be an angry retort when Edwin’s dull voice interrupted them from the doorway. “Sir Wilhelm Carteret has arrived, Admiral, and Molly informs me that dinner is served.”
      “Ah yes. Shall we, then?” The admiral blew out a heavy sigh and gestured toward the foyer.
      Mr. Waite turned and hastened toward the door as if he couldn’t wait to escape. Deciding to face her enemy head-on, Faith slid her arm through his as he passed. “Mr. Waite, please do forgive us for forcing you to endure our family squabbles.”
      Although he smiled, the muscles in his arm remained as tight as a full sail under a strong wind.
      Hope tossed her nose in the air at Faith before exiting the parlor in a swish of satin—no doubt she’d intended to grab the commander herself. Grace and the admiral followed behind.
      
“Sir Wilhelm,” the admiral bellowed. “How good of you to come.”
      At the sight of Sir Wilhelm, a chill seeped through Faith. He straightened his white periwig and allowed his eyes to slink over her before they landed on Mr. Waite and narrowed. A smile returned when he faced the admiral and bowed. “My pleasure, as always.”
      “Sir Wilhelm Carteret,” the admiral said. “May I present Mr. Dajon Waite.”
      “An honor, sir.” The commander bowed.
      Sir Wilhelm grunted and gave him a cursory glance.
      “Sir Wilhelm is an acquaintance of the family and dines with us often,” the admiral explained as Edwin led the party down the hall to the dining room.
      White linen and china glistened in the candlelight on the oblong table that filled the small room. The admiral took his seat at the head, his back to a window overlooking the gardens; rain puddled across the glass, distorting the trees, bushes, stables, and servants’ quarters that filled the back gardens.
      Once everyone was seated, kitchen maids placed platters of meat, fresh flounder, rice, corn, and biscuits onto the table, in addition to pitchers of wine and water. The savory aroma of beef and creamy butter spiraled over Faith but soured in her churning stomach. She cast a wary eye upon the two men responsible for her lack of appetite: Sir Wilhelm, who flapped his coattails behind him as he lowered to his chair, and Mr. Waite, who took his seat directly across from her.
      “A grand feast.” Her father rubbed his hands together before saying grace over the food.
      “Sir Wilhelm.” Mr. Waite passed a plate of mutton to the man who sat beside him. “Your name is familiar to me. Where have I heard it?”
      Sir Wilhelm took the plate and served himself a huge pile of meat, thrusting his chin out before him. “My grandfather, George Carteret, was one of the original eight proprietors of the realm.”
      “Indeed?” Mr. Waite tucked a strand of wayward hair behind his ear. “Not the same George Carteret who was treasurer of the navy?”
      “The same.” Sir Wilhelm sniffed and directed his pointed nose at Faith. His epicurean smile sent a shudder through her, and she looked away and grabbed the bowl of rice in front of her.
      “Not only that”—the admiral poured wine into his goblet—“but Wilhelm’s grandfather was also a vice admiral and comptroller of the navy. A brilliant, powerful man.”
      Faith watched Sir Wilhelm’s scrawny shoulders rise with each praise. She used to think him a large man, but sitting next to the commander, he shriveled in stature. Her gaze shifted to Mr. Waite. His broad chest pressed against his blue navy coat. One rebellious strand of dark brown hair—the color of the rich soil she’d once seen on the coast of Ireland—sprang from his queue, and when his bright blue eyes met hers, glimmering in the candlelight, an unusual warmth spread throughout her.
      
“So you can imagine,” Sir Wilhelm said, leaning forward and drawing all attention his way, “how thrilled I was to discover that an admiral had been stationed here in Charles Towne. I arranged to make his acquaintance as soon as I could. But I never imagined Admiral Westcott would have such lovely daughters.” His brash gaze landed on Faith, and she shifted in her chair, wondering why she had the misfortune of being the center of this man’s attentions.
      “Then do you share your grandfather’s love of the sea?” Mr. Waite asked Sir Wilhelm.
      Wilhelm poured wine into his glass, clanking the decanter against his goblet so loudly Faith thought it would break. “No, I am afraid my many obligations keep me ashore.”
      “Indeed?” Faith gave him a crooked smile. “The rumor about town is that you suffer from seasickness.”
      Hope giggled.
      “Faith!” Her father’s gruff voice boomed across the room like a cannon blast. “You know better than to put any credence to the foolhardy prattle of the town’s biddies. You will apologize to Sir Wilhelm at once.”
      Sir Wilhelm sniffed and wiggled his nose. “No need. There are many who are jealous of my power and enjoy nothing more than to spread ugly tales about me.” He withdrew a handkerchief from his embroidered satin waistcoat and held it to his nose. “I trust, Miss Westcott, you are too clever to fall for such fabrications.”
      “Forgive my impertinence.” She took a bite of beef and eyed him. The ghostly pallor of his face matched the powder in his wig. A dark mole peeked out from behind a cusp of white hair near his right ear, like a bat from a cave.
      “Faith is far too wise for such nonsense,” Hope added. “She is by far the most intelligent woman I know.”
      “That she surpasses your own intelligence is no accomplishment.” The admiral chortled, plunging his fork into a mound of corn. “My dear Hope was never proficient in her studies.”
      Hope lowered her eyes, and Faith longed to kick her father beneath the table. Why did he insist on showering Hope with his constant disapproval? Could he not see how it crushed the poor girl, especially now that their mother was gone?
      Grace squeezed Hope’s arm and cast a matronly look around the table. “It is the condition of the heart that matters most.”
      
“Well said, Miss Grace.” Mr. Waite nodded then raised his gaze to Faith. “Forgive me, but I cannot shake the feeling that we have met somewhere before.”
      Her heart froze. She gulped and willed the screeching voice within her to calm before she dared utter a word. “I fear you are mistaken, Mr. Waite. Unless, perhaps”—she stabbed a piece of meat with her fork, hoping the trembling of her hands was not evident—“you frequented Portsmouth? We may have passed on the streets.” She placed the beef into her mouth, but the savory flavor became bitter before it reached her throat.
      “Perhaps. But ’tis the strangest thing. Your groomsman seemed quite familiar to me, as well.” A hint of suspicion tainted his voice.
      “Lucas?” Faith coughed. “He has a common face.” She bent over, trying to dislodge the food stuck in her throat. The commander was toying with her, after all.
He knows. He has to know.
Dread stung every nerve as she pounded on her chest, finally loosening the clump of meat. It wasn’t that she feared the gallows. It wasn’t that she feared death.
      What she feared most of all was leaving her sisters all alone in the world.
      “Are you ill, daughter?” The admiral leaned from his seat beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder.
      Sir Wilhelm took a sip of wine and gazed at Faith. Something sinister crept behind his grin. “’Tis probably the climate. Every new settler suffers local infections as they grow accustomed to this humid environment. They call it the seasoning.”
      “I am quite well, I assure you.” Faith glared at Wilhelm. “We have been here over two months and have yet to fall ill.”
      “Then you have been fortunate, indeed,” Sir Wilhelm commented. “In the past twenty years, Charles Towne has been struck by both smallpox and the Barbados fever. Horrid diseases.” He shuddered in disgust. “Hundreds died.” He gave them a superior look. “Only those of strong constitution survived.”
      Faith snarled. Strong, indeed. Or too weak and despicable for the disease to waste its energy upon.
      The admiral cleared his throat. “Hardly appropriate dinner conversation in front of the ladies.”
      “We have nothing to fear,” Grace interjected. “God will protect us.”
      “If we live, dear sister, God will have naught to do with it,” Faith snapped.
      
“You cannot mean that.”
      “Come now, ladies.” The admiral shook his head and gestured for more wine, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Faith, you must repent for such a statement.”
      Faith flattened her lips and flung her hair behind her.
      Grace smiled at Mr. Waite. “Are you a godly man?”
      “For heaven’s sake, Grace, is that all that concerns you?” Hope sighed, poking at her food.
      Mr. Waite swallowed and smiled, grabbing his cup. “Yes, I am, miss.”
      “To what church do you belong?”
      He took a sip of water and set down his cup. “I aspire to the doctrine that the Bible is the divine Word of God and should guide us in all things.”
      Sir Wilhelm snorted, sending a spray of wine over his plate. “Surely you are not one of those Dissenters, Waite. The Church of England is the only true church.”
      The commander’s jaw flexed. “Where, pray tell, Sir Wilhelm, does it indicate that in the Word of God? I have yet to read that passage.” He gave the man a patronizing grin.
      Sir Wilhelm squirmed in his seat and huffed in response.
      “Well said, Mr. Waite.” Grace fingered the top button of her gown, and Faith wondered if perhaps her piety wasn’t simply due to a lack of air from the stranglehold her tight-fitting collars had upon her neck.