Revenge of the Fox

Chapter 7

Markson trudged dispiritedly along the waterfront back toward the fort, followed by his troop. Not only had they not found a blessed thing, but he'd had to listen to several irate Captains complaining about the intrusion. Dusk was starting to fall as they walked along, and the nightlife along the waterfront was starting to wake up. Lantern light blazed from the windows of several taverns, and a group of streetwalkers loitered nearby, some of them calling invitations to his men. He was about to pass by, when his eye was caught by one of the women. She was a hard looking woman with brassy blond hair, obviously past her first youth. But there was something familiar about her. It came to him in a flash, and he went up to her quickly, grasping her by the arm and turning her to face him.

"My, my, soldier. No need to be rough," she purred, arching her back and thrusting her bosom out. "If you're lookin' for some sport tonight, I'm your girl."

Markson looked her up and down, noting the green brocade dress the color of pine needles trimmed with gold braid. "Where did you get this dress," he demanded.

She pouted. "Do you like it, gov'na? It's new." She ran her hand down her body and tossed her hair back.

Markson gave her arm a little shake. "Tell me where you got it!"

"Hey," she complained. "If ye must know, I got it from Madame Martine at the Satin Dove."

Markson released her arm without a word, leaving the woman staring angrily after him. "Follow me," he snapped at his men, and strode back down the street toward the brothel the woman had mentioned. It was only a short distance away. "Wait here," he rapped out as he opened the door and walked in. He found himself in a parlor of sorts. It was dingy and ill lit, with tasteless red satin curtains covering the dirty windows and several shabby couches scattered around. A few scantily clad women looked up at his abrupt entrance. "I'm looking for Madame Martine," he announced.

"I'm Madame Martine," cooed a voice from the staircase. A tall dark haired woman descended the stairs, dressed in a revealing black gown. As she drew closer he could see that despite the quantity of make up she was wearing, her features were hard and her eyes cold. "Can I help you, Lieutenant? Perhaps you'd care to make an appointment with one of my lovely young girls?"

He looked at her coldly. "I'm not here to sample the wares, Madame. I would like to speak to you in private."

Her face grew even harder. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I will have to escort you to the fort and have our conversation there."

Her eyes narrowed. Through the window she could see the troop of soldiers outside her door. "Very well then, follow me." She led the way up the stairs to a small room, dominated by a large iron bedstead. "What do you want?"

Markson leaned against the door and folded his arms. "I saw a prostitute outside wearing a green brocade dress that she told me she got from you. Where did you get it from?"

Madame Martine tossed her head. "Are green dresses so unusual that you need to burst in here to ask about a whore's wardrobe?"

"Don't play with me, Madame. The last time I saw that dress it was being worn by Mrs. Jack Sparrow at the Governor's house, less than an hour before she disappeared. Where did you get that dress!"

She looked at him in alarm. "I know nothing about that. The soldiers have already searched this house. There are no kidnapped women here! I run a clean business."

Markson was implacable. "The dress, Madame."

She bit her lip and looked away. "A man came in here several days ago. He wanted to rent one of the rooms for several hours. He came with several men about midday yesterday. They left a few hours after nightfall. Just before they left, he gave me four ladies gowns and told me to dispose of them. I couldn't see any reason to discard perfectly good gowns, so I gave three of them to some of my working girls. The forth one was torn."

"Torn?" Markson felt a sudden chill. "In what way?"

She shrugged. "It looked as though strips had been torn from the skirt."

"Show me the room they rented," he demanded.

She led the way down the hall to the last room. "They wanted their privacy. This room is closest to the back door. I usually post a guard here as you can see. When the men were here, however, they used their own guard." She opened the door and stepped inside.

Markson followed her into the room. It was essentially identical to the other one they'd been in. Nothing was here really but a bed with a tawdry satin coverlet. He looked under the bed. Nothing there except a chamber pot. As he was straightening up, however, his eye was caught by a glint of white. Bending again, he saw a narrow strip of white satin tied around the leg of the bed. Holding it up he asked "Does this look like it had been torn from the dress you mentioned?"

Madame Martine nodded. "Yes. The forth dress was white satin. It looked like a wedding gown."

Markson smiled coldly. "It was Antonia Swann's wedding gown. I want you to tell me everything you can about these men. Every last detail. If I find out you've held anything back, I'll have you thrown into prison at the fort for the rest of your days."

She looked frightened. "You can't do that!"

"Madame," he said, "we're discussing the kidnapping of the Governor's daughter, the Commodore's fiancée, and the wife and second mate of one of the more powerful privateer captains in the Caribbean. You'd be surprised what I can do. Start talking."

--

From the sounds she heard, Elizabeth surmised that the two men on this small boat were tying up for the night. "Better get her outa the hold," one voice said.

"Why," complained the second voice.

"She's supposed ta arrive in good shape," was the answer. "We're gonna have ta feed 'er."

Elizabeth pushed the gag back into her mouth and waited. A moment later a trap door was opened and rough hands reached in to grasp her and haul her out onto the deck of the boat. The man who held her spoke. "I'm gonna remove yer gag. Don't try ta scream." He cut the fabric and the gag fell away.

"May I have some water, please," Elizabeth asked. He handed her a leather flask. The water was musty and tasted slightly of the leather container, but she drank it down thirstily. "Thank you."

"We're stoppin' 'ere for the night," he said gruffly. "There ain't no one around fer miles, so there's no point in makin' a fuss. Do as yer told and we won't 'urt ye."

"Where are you taking me?" Elizabeth asked.

"Ta meet the ship," he answered.

"Why me? And where are the other women?"

"I dunno," he answered. "I got paid to bring ye ta the Vixen. That's all I know."

"The Vixen?"

"That's the Fox's ship. Ye'll see it tomorrow if all goes well."