The Lost Gentleman. Margaret McPhee

years and all it had entailed for them both.

      ‘He certainly does not.’ Gunner grinned. ‘They will bury us in those damned hammocks.’

      Kit smiled. ‘No doubt.’ He moved to the large rectangular window, looking out over the sea. ‘How is our guest?’

      ‘Resting. She has a remarkable resilience. Most women would be suffering the vapours at the mere suggestion of the ordeal she has endured. But maybe the shock of it has not hit home yet. Delayed emotional response following trauma—we have both seen it.’ Gunner came to stand by his side and met his gaze meaningfully. They both remembered the horrors of the year in that Eastern hellhole.

      ‘Has she any signs of physical hurt?’

      ‘None that I could see. I did explain I was a physician and enquired whether she had need of any assistance, but she declined, saying she was well enough.’

      ‘A lone woman amongst a crew of pirates... How well can she be?’ said Kit.

      Gunner’s mouth twisted with distaste. ‘I am rather glad that you killed La Voile.’

      ‘I am not. They would have taken his life just the same in London.’ And Kit would have welcomed the extra money that would have paid.

      ‘Always the money,’ said Gunner with a smile.

      ‘Always the money,’ agreed Kit, and thought of what this one final job would allow him to do. All the waiting and planning and working, and counting every coin until the target was in sight, and the time was almost nigh. He pushed the thought away, for now. ‘I will have the day cot set up for you and space cleared for your possessions and clothes. If you will excuse me, I have got work to do.’

      ‘And always work,’ said Gunner.

      ‘No rest for the wicked.’ There was a truth in that glib phrase that few realised, Kit thought wryly. No rest indeed. Not ever. ‘La Voile is dead, the job is done. We go back to England and claim our bounty.’

      ‘And Mrs Medhurst? We cannot touch port in America. We’d be running the gauntlet with the flotilla of French privateers and pirates patrolling their coast. Even with all Raven’s advantages, she cannot match such numbers.’

      Kit smiled. ‘We will drop the woman at Antigua when we victual. Fort Berkeley there will organise her return home.’

      ‘A good plan. But it has been so long since we were in the presence of a respectable woman, one cannot help speculate how her presence would have lifted the journey home. It would certainly have kept the men on their best behaviour.’

      ‘You are too long from home, my friend,’ said Kit drily.

      Gunner gave a smile. ‘Perhaps.’ He was still smiling as he left the cabin, closing the door behind him.

      Kit returned to his desk and the navigational charts that lay there. But before he focused his attention on studying their detail he thought once more of Kate Medhurst with her cool grey eyes: proud, appraising, wary and with that slight prickly hostility beneath the surface.

      Disharmony between our two countries. He smiled at that line and wondered how a woman like her had come to be abducted by a shipload of pirates. And even more, how she had fared amongst them. For all the strength of character that emanated from her, she was not a big woman. Physically she would not have stood a chance.

      Maybe Gunner had a point when it came to La Voile. Kit thought of his blade slicing through the villain’s heart. Maybe it was worth the gold guineas that it had cost him, after all.

      He gave a grim smile and finally turned his attention to the charts that waited on the desk.

      * * *

      Kate forced herself to stop pacing within the tiny cabin in which they had housed her. She stopped, sat down at the little desk and stilled the panic roiling in her mind and firing through her body. Stop. Be still. And think.

      Her eyes ranged over the assortment of medical books, prayer books and the large bible on the shelf fixed to the wall above the desk. On the desk itself were paper, pen and ink and a small penknife. She lifted the knife and very gently touched a thumb to test the sharpness of the blade. The priest kept the little knife razor sharp, potentially a useful weapon, but it was nothing in comparison to her own. The feel of the leather holster and scabbard, and their precious contents, strapped to her legs gave her a measure of confidence.

      She would not hesitate to use either the knife or pistol on North if she needed to. Not that she thought it would come to that.

      Coyote would come for her. It is what she would have done had one of her crew been taken. Regroup, rearm, follow at an unseen distance, then come in fast for the attack. Sunny Jim would do the same. She knew her men—they would not abandon her.

      They would come for her and it was vital that Kate be ready. All she had to do was watch, wait and keep her head down. Not today, perhaps not even tomorrow, but soon. It was just a matter of time before she was back once more on her own ship, maybe even with Captain Kit North as her prisoner. She smiled at that thought. The Lafitte brothers, the men who oversaw most of the mercantile, smuggling, privateering and pirate ventures around Louisiana, would pay her well for him. With North off the scene it would be a great deal safer for them all. She smiled again, buoyed by the prospect.

      She pleaded fatigue that night so as not to have to join them for dinner, eating instead from the tray he sent to her cabin. Coyote would not come tonight, and as for North... An image of him swam in her head and she felt nervousness flutter in her stomach...she would defer facing him until tomorrow.

      * * *

      But of North the next morning there was no sign. It was the priest, Reverend Dr Gunner, who sat with Kate at breakfast and the priest who offered her a tour of Raven. She accepted, knowing the information could be useful both to Coyote and to all her fellow pirate and privateer brethren.

      ‘I could not help noticing that Captain North was not at breakfast.’

      ‘North does not eat breakfast. He is a man of few needs. He takes but one meal a day.’

      ‘A man of few needs... What else can you tell me of the famous Captain North?’

      ‘What else would you like to know?’ He slid her a speculative look that made her realise just how her question had sounded.

      ‘All about this ship,’ she said.

      Reverend Dr Gunner smiled, only too happy to oblige.

      Raven was bigger than Coyote, but the lower deck was much the same. There were more cabins and the deck contained not cargo, but long guns. Better gunnery than Coyote carried. So much better that it made her blood run cold. Two rows of guns, some carronades, others long nine pounders, and a few bigger, longer eighteen pounders, including two as bow chasers, lined up, all neat on their British grey-painted, rather than the American red-painted, wheeled truck carriages and secured in place by ropes and blocks. There were also sets of long oars neatly stored and ready for use, something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

      ‘You are oared,’ she said weakly.

      ‘They do come in handy at certain times when the wind does not blow. And we are sufficiently crewed to man them easily enough.’ The priest smiled. ‘We are also carrying extra ballast to make us lie low in the water,’ he explained. ‘To give the illusion we are heavily laden with cargo.’

      ‘You were deliberately posing as a merchantman.’

      ‘Captain North’s idea. He said that when you have a whole ocean to search for La Voile the easiest thing would be to have him come to us. He said it would work.’

      ‘And it did.’ A shiver ran through her at North’s cold, clever calculation and how easily and naïvely she had stepped into his trap.

      ‘It did, indeed, Mrs Medhurst,’ Gunner agreed with an open easy smile as he led her into a room that was