Part 21
"LIZ!" Maria screamed in terror, as she witnessed her companion's slender fingers slide abruptly from the rope. Hopelessly, she watched as, for an instant, Liz faltered mid-air then the next, begin an awful descend from the side of the ship to the infinite blue endlessness. She did not even know if Liz knew how to swim. The thought bounded on her through her horror stricken mind.
In a feeble try, she attempted to slide over and ,grasping the rope, reach out bodily, arm and hands stretched out wide, and grasp Liz's flailing arms. All she came in contact with was the bellowing wind.
Her breath caught as she witnessed, as if in slow motion, as Liz fell farther and farther away towards the deep blue.
Liz saw Maria make a desperate attempt to grab her from certain doom. Their hands were several inches apart, and Liz did not know if she was truly grateful they had not connected and held. As she let go of that rope she had set her plan into action. Thank heaven she had taken it upon herself to learn how to swim. Her lessons were taboo to her mother so when they made a trip to their country house, Liz would sneak to the lake beyond the pastures , behind the pretence of going out for a ride.
According to her mother, a lady's place is in her husband's household, directing the servants, embroidering and entertaining. Liz found that idea abhorrent. Ofcourse, not the kind of girl to upset her own mother she had acted the perfect daughter in her presence, while every chance she got she swam, learnt how to shoot a pistol(for her own self protection ofcourse) and how to ride like a man. Truthfully the side-saddle was a most terrible instrument of backside torture.
And she was able to do that because of one person. The only man she ever cared a whit for. The childhood friend that could refuse her no request and vice versa. They had known each other ever since she paid her first visit to his humble abode in England. It was her first trip overseas when she was six years old and her parents had informed her that they were visiting friends.
In the countryside of Yorkshire she met Alexander, informally known as Alex. He was the only son of Sir Charles Whitman and-heaven rest her soul-Pauline. Alex was about her age when they met and they became as close as brother and sister in their years together. He was the one who taught her how to swim, ride and shoot. And she would be forever grateful.
Dear, dear Alex. He also knew how to make her laugh when she was in the worst of situation. She would not have minded his odd sense of humour at the moment. Yet he was not there. She had left England a year past. At the dock, they had promised each other they would always be there for each other.
He was not here now, when she needed him. Infact a letter had arrived only a few weeks after arriving in Italy, that Alexander has been enlisted into the army. He was to become one of her Majesty's, the Queen Victoria, regiments. It was considered a great honour to the Whitmans to be held in such high regard by the queen. His parents were so proud. Liz was proud too. Yet in her heart, she knew Alex was no fighting man and she prayed God kept him safe.
It was jarring when she finally hit the water. She hadn't counted on it being so cold. Immediately salty water surrounded her everywhere. She had anticipated it though and already held her breath so no water invaded her lungs. The icy liquid trickled across her skin and soaked through her muslin gown.
Before she could grow numb, and certainly before she drowned, she began to move. stirring her legs in a bicycle motion and flailing her arms mechanically to reach the surface. It was not much of a struggle on a calm day such as this. Ignoring the pressure that was driving her under, and the being hampered by the gown she drove up with the physical professionalism she had gained from all her lessons.
Liz broke the surface with hardly a ripple. She dismissed the water running down her eyes and face and immediately looked up towards the ship. Maria was no longer perched there and Liz could only conclude that she had gone to seek help. With that in mind she knew that she did not have enough time. She twisted around to look for a direction to head for.
The ship was anchored little away from the dock and Liz figured that the captain and crew had taken a rowboat. Turning to the direction of the dock could possibly prove a mistake. Who knows who she might bump into? Knowing she should starting moving she began swimming expertly away from the ship. Looking ahead she saw a small cove away from the action and knew she had found her temporary haven. Exhilarated by her successful attempt she found herself smiling brightly and rushing to it. She would worry about any repercussions her hasty idea would provide later.
Now...freedom was at the tips of her fingers.
Max entered the 'Le Blanc Cheval' after he made a quick perusal of the surroundings. Always on the look out for an impeccably dressed criminal. As he stepped in his nose caught the powerful scent of whiskey, and a heavy fog of smoke hung in the atmosphere. His lungs exhaled with the effort not to go in a fit of coughing. He'd been in worse places than this. Yet he never seemed to get used to it.
His dark assessing eyes gazed around the run down club. In the corner an intent group of players were settled in a game of poker. A boisterous explosion of laughter jarred his senses and he wheeled around to watch a crowd of drunk men sharing large jugs of some kind of alcoholic brew. In the arms of a few men were common waitresses. Both were being groped roughly and he would have intervened, yet paid them no mind. They were enjoying it.
Ignoring the other customers he made his way to a solitary table and with a brief look of distaste at its condition he took a seat. The one candle provided gave him little light to observe the area around him, yet he did not mind it. It kept his face somewhat concealed. That was what he needed. Not to draw attention.
Gingerly he leaned back in the wooden chair, half afraid it would collapsed beneath his weight. Seconds later a young waitress came to serve him. She was a pretty little thing. Red hair, green eyes, from what he would make out. Suddenly he found himself imagining long brown silky hair and deep brown eyes. He shook himself mentally. He continued his assessment of the rest of her body.
Quite tall, possibly she came up to his chin,large full breasts that almost popped out of her tight fitting bodice. Long lithe legs that would wrap around his body at passion's peak. Unbidden came the picture of firm hand fitting mounds that ache for his suckling. A small petite body that only came up to his shoulders. A body he ached to bury and lose himself in. The reason he suddenly had the most painful aching in his groin.
He marvelled at the way she seemed to control him.A mere slip of a woman, whom he'd only known a week. A very desirable woman, he'd concede that. Yet she seemed so innocent as he looked upon her gentle, flawless face. It baffled him that he should find that attractive. He made it a rule to himself never to involve himself with virgins or married women. Only widows, top mistresses and common wenches when he had the urge. Ofcourse he still was not even sure if she was indeed a virgin or simply playing the innocent. He almost grinned. He promised himself to find out.
This girl. No,woman he thought as he remembered her pressed against his body, her lips beneath his own. She mystified him. No ordinary thief, he though with a sudden smile. He wondered about her. Liz. An apt nickname. Yet what was her real name? Where has she come from? He had caught her in the heart of Florence yet her accent seemed more foreign. A combination of Italian and English, come to think of it.
Either way in that week he had been resisting the urge to sweep her off her feet and lay her atop his bed, and make love to her. All throughout the day and night. Savour every touch and taste. Wrap himself inside her and hear that siren's voice breath his name in ecstasy, as he reached his own completion. He'd never wanted anything more. And the most frustrating part was that he did not even know why.
Attempting to rid himself of the disturbing thoughts he turned his attention to the buxom woman who was standing enticingly before him, giving a look that he could not misinterpret. He had a mind to made use of her services yet he felt no need to be in her arms and anyway, he had more pressing matters to attend to.
"Vat vould you like?" she asked in a sultry heavy accented English. She apparently knew he was not French. He hated it when people could distinguish him as different. He wanted to blend in, especially to gain answers.
Giving her a strained smile he answered "I do no wish for anything. Merci" and tried to dismiss her. She moved, but not away, but to him, and pressed her pelvis to his side in a seductive way. He stiffened at her touch yet controlled himself enough not to move away. It would do no good to fire up her temper and get on the bad side of the inn. He could tell she had one by her red hair. A superstition but one he did not choose to test at the moment.
He choose to act the aloof rogue. He slowly looked up at her, his eyes not revealing his inner feelings, his face wreathed in a bedevilled smile. One that made any woman he set it on feel like putty. It proved to work once again, when he saw her eyes widen and a red flush creep up her cheeks.
Making sure she caught all his movements he raised his hand carefully and with his finger, lightly trailed it along the said of her breast and waist, down to her hips. She shivered.
"I mean it." he said softly, in a rich deep timber yet with a force that brooked no argument. For an instant she seemed unsure whether to go further or back off. She gave him a once over for the hundredth time. He had attracted her the moment he set foot in here and she hope to have that Adonis in her bed for a while. She looked back at his eyes and then suddenly decided against trying her luck. Who knew what that foreigner's business was here. It was better that he was not interested. With a shrug, she left.
Max relaxed back into his chair glad to have had that taken care off. After a minute of glancing around he slipped his hand in his front pocket and retrieved a gold watch. He checked the time. Noon. He should be here by now. He wondered what was keeping him. Then the door at the front opened again and a figure walked in. He glanced about before spotting Max, then walked straight towards him.
Max prepared himself, as the man took the seat opposite himself. For a moment there was total silence as they both studied each other.
"You be the Hawk?" he questioned cautiously. Max prided himself on his chosen name. It befitted a pirate and gave the impression of danger, which was just what he required.
"I am him." he answered . The man before him appeared to relax somewhat.
"That be good. I was afraid I gots the wrong man" he replied then straightened in his chair and looked ready for business. "What can I be of service of sir."
Max leaned in across the table and gave in an intent stare. "I am looking for man."
The man, who Max already knew as One-eared John. Not hard to miss, since he truly is one eared. It was rumoured that nothing happens here without One-eared John being aware of it. Max counted on that.
"What man be that?" One-eared John asked.
"Italian man. Rich. Pretty face.Was here about a year ago. People call him Disomano." he said, then waited for second till One-eared John digested that piece of information. "What do you know about it?"
One-eared John appeared to be contemplating then, "I heard of such a man...but I don't know if I ever saw him..." he said very slowly. Max refrained from rolling his eyes. He reached into his pocket and threw out two gold coins. One-eared John's hand shot out and collected.
"Well, now that you mention it I believe I do remember a man like ye describe. He was all noble like, that he was. Had the coldest stare that would freeze a man in 'is boots, that he will. I remembers he be here on business. Stayed no more than a few days..." he trailed off looking like he could not remember anything besides that.
Max, impatient, reached again into his pocket and threw him another two coins, which he swiped even faster than the last two. He smiled in satisfaction and Max witnessed a mouth with back rotten teeth.
"No one knows what 'es been doin' 'ere. He was all private like. 'Is crew were real talkative. 'specially after a whole bottle 'o Whiskey." he chuckled to himself. "They says he was in one awful hurry to git outta...England..yea England, that be it." he appraised Max with a compatriots wink. "Sounded mighty fishy ta me, but me I don't care, only ta make me sum cash." He shrugged, and Max sick of the game, threw him another two.
One-eared John smiled gratefully and swept them away. 'Probably going to buy himself more of that Whiskey' Max thought with disgust, smelling the scent on him.
"Anyhow they have a few more drinks an' the only thing they says is that their captain says theys going home to wherever country theys from...an'-" but before he could continue a loud commotion sounded outside. Everyone in the place stood and rushed out to watch the scene.
Max growled at the interruption and rose to inspect what the trouble was. He was angry as he made his way out the door. He had been so close to finding out some valuable information. At least he knew where he is now. He was furious by the time he pushed through the crowd to witness what was going on.He glanced back behind him to see where One-eared John was. He had disappeared. Max swore forcefully.
He boiled to a rage when he witnessed a group of drunk men laughing and molesting a hysterically screaming, soaked Liz.