The Lost Gentleman. Margaret McPhee

      She could not have known what she was asking. A sea captain did not lend his spyglass lightly. But she stood there patiently waiting, with those Atlantic grey eyes fixed on his. There was no sign of any fear now. She seemed all still calmness, but he sensed that slight tension that underlay her. Her hands were steady as she accepted the spyglass and peered through it, adjusting its focus to suit her eyes. She looked and those tiny seconds stretched.

      At last she closed the spyglass and returned it to him, their eyes meeting as she did so.

      ‘Thank you.’ Her American lilt was soft against his ears. ‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen. I think I will retire to my cabin for a little while, if you don’t mind.’

      They made their devoirs.

      His eyes followed her walking away across that deck to the hatch, the gentle sway of her hips, the proud high-held head. Despite the faded black muslin, chip-straw bonnet and bare feet, she had an air about her of poise and confidence.

      ‘She is afraid,’ said Gunner softly.

      ‘Yes,’ agreed Kit, his gaze still fixed on her retreating figure. She was afraid, but not in the way any other woman would have been afraid. There was a strength about her, an antipathy, and something else that he could not quite work out.

      He glanced up to find Gunner watching him.

      ‘Is it Coyote?’ Gunner asked with just the tiniest raise of his brows.

      ‘Without a doubt,’ replied Kit smoothly.

      * * *

      Kate closed the door of the cabin behind her and leaned her spine against it, resting there as if she could block out North and the situation she found herself in.

      If La Voile’s crew threaten violence, they will go the same way as their captain. North’s words sounded again in her mind, and she did not doubt them, not for an instant. Not because of rumours or reputations, but because she had seen the evidence with her own eyes.

      Her men were coming for her. And they would most definitely threaten violence. Raven’s sails made her fast. But not faster than Coyote.

      Sunny Jim was an experienced seaman. He would see the change in Raven’s sails, but he would not see anything that was designed to stay hidden. Not the long-range guns or their number, or the fact Coyote would be hit before she could fire a shot. Not the weaponry aboard, or, worse than any of that, the mind of the man who was a more formidable enemy than any fireside tale foretold.

      He would not realise that Coyote did not stand a rat’s chance against Raven.

       Have I convinced you, Mrs Medhurst?

      He had more than convinced her. She had seen the cold promise in those eyes of his, the utter certainty.

      Fear and dread squirmed in her stomach. She thought of Sunny Jim and of how much she respected the old man who had been her grandfather’s friend. She thought of young John Rishley and how he had his whole life to live in front of him. She thought of each and every man upon Coyote. She knew them all and their families, too.

      ‘Sweet Lord, help them,’ she whispered the prayer aloud. ‘Make them turn back.’

      But they wouldn’t turn back. She was their captain. They were coming. She knew it and North knew it, too. If her men reached Raven, their fate was sealed and the knowledge chilled her to the bone.

      She couldn’t just let it happen. She couldn’t just let them sail unwittingly to their deaths.

      So Kate sat down at the priest’s little desk and she thought and she prayed, but no answer came. And then she remembered the distant islands and how all of the attention of North and his crew would be on Coyote growing steadily bigger. The first tiny hint of an idea whispered in her ear. She knew these waters, all of their layout and what was in them and on them. Any good Louisiana privateer or pirate did. And Sunny Jim was a good Louisiana pirate, too.

      It was not the best of plans, she knew that. It was risky. It could go wrong in so many ways. But it was the only plan she could think of, and she would rather take a chance with it than sit here and let her men sail to their doom. Anything was better than allowing their confrontation with North.

      Pulling up her skirts, Kate unbuckled the leather straps of her holsters and hid them with her weapons beneath the cot. Then she smoothed her skirts down in place, and, with a deep breath, made her way to the upper deck to wait for the right moment.

      * * *

      ‘We need to veer to the north,’ said Kit. He stood on the quarterdeck with Gunner, the two of them pouring over the navigational chart that covered this area. With one of his men dedicated to watching Coyote full time, Kit could get on with navigating Raven through these waters. ‘Regardless of what the charts say, we do not want to be too close to that cluster of rocky outcrops, or what lies beneath.’

      Gunner gave a nod. ‘One cannot always trust the charts and it is better to be safe than sorry.’

      ‘Bear to larboard, Mr Briggs,’ Kit gave the command to his helmsman. Raven began to alter course ever so slightly, taking her in a broader sweep clear of the rocks.

      ‘Clearly visible in daylight, but at night, in the dark... I bet there have been more than a few gone to meet their maker by that means.’

      The two of them mulled that truth for a few minutes in silence as they watched those dark, jagged, rocky bases ahead. Kit would not mind meeting his maker. Indeed, over the years part of him had wished for death. But not quite yet.

      His gaze wandered to Raven’s bow, to where Kate Medhurst had stood for so long, staring out at the ocean ahead of them. Now the spot was empty. He scanned the deck and saw no sign of her.

      ‘Where is Mrs Medhurst?’ His eyes narrowed with focus.

      ‘She was right there...’ Gunner stopped. ‘Maybe she wanted some shade from the fierceness of the sun.’

      ‘Some shade...’ Kit murmured the words to himself and in his mind’s eye saw the dark awning fixed across Coyote’s quarterdeck. Something about the scene niggled at him, but he could not put his finger on why.

      ‘Probably returned to her cabin.’

      ‘When the cabins are like sweat boxes and there is shade behind us?’ Kit raised an eyebrow and met Gunner’s gaze. ‘How long has she been gone?’

      ‘No idea. Could be two minutes, could be twenty. Some time while we were engaged with the charts.’ Gunner was looking at him. ‘Call of nature?’

      ‘Perhaps.’ But he had a bad feeling. ‘Better to take no chances.’ They both knew he was responsible for her safety while she was aboard Raven.

      ‘Has anyone seen Mrs Medhurst?’ Gunner asked of the crew.

      ‘Lady went below some time since,’ Smithy answered from where he was holystoning the deck.

      Kit and Gunner exchanged a look and went below.

      Kit gestured his head towards Gunner’s old cabin that, for now, belonged to Mrs Medhurst. Gunner nodded and went to knock on the door.

      There was only silence in response. Gunner opened the door, then glanced round at Kit with a shake of the head.

      ‘The head?’ suggested Gunner. ‘I will let you check that one.’ He grinned.

      ‘You are too kind.’ But Kit didn’t balk from it. He headed to the bow and knocked on the door that led out onto the ship’s head. There was no one outside. But folded neatly and tucked in behind the ledge was black dyed muslin. Kit lifted it out and Kate Medhurst’s dress fluttered like the black flag of a pirate within his hand.

      ‘What in heavens...?’ Gunner shot him a worried glance.

      The two men looked from the dress outside