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Lucie and the Captain

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Lucie of Beacon Bay

Greystone in the Summer

Dinner For One

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Chapter Thirty-Nine

Just When You Thought It Was Safe

Claymore sat at his desk, his expression deeply morose as he toyed with the feathering of his quill pen. He knew he should be concentrating on his figuring. He needed to be adding up his fat columns of figures as he always did from dawn until dusk, and sometimes long after. The process gave order to his life and made his world feel stable.

Now all he felt was disordered and unstable. Ever since his cousin had ordered him from Gull Cottage and told him not to return unless specifically invited, Claymore's sleep had been fitful and his temper short.

How had it all come to such a bad impasse? It was almost as if he'd been operating in some kind of dream state ever since his cousin had sailed away. Ever since Daniel had asked him to take charge of the care of his house while he was gone. A routine thing that had always been understood between them. For a suitable fee, of course.

Claymore sighed. "Or was it some kind of a crazy nightmare?" he asked under his breath.

Now he no longer had any direct access to the boy. To his chagrin, he found he was beginning to miss his adopted son. He was providing generously for the lad, after all. "That cannot be denied."

He badly wanted to tell his cousin about the strange advent of the demon coach driver. But Claymore had done his best to convince himself the man was just another figment of his fevered imagination. He wished he knew what to do for the best. But nothing came to mind and so he sat, with the ink drying on the tip of his pen as he stared into the middle distance.

"Then you got exactly as you deserved, Uncle. After all we have done for you. We trusted you."

"We trusted you…" Claymore sighed with regret as he repeated Carolyn's words which had dripped with deep disappointment.

"I'm sorry?" Jack looked up from his work, frowning at his master. "Did you say something?"

"Nothing that bears repeating," Claymore grumbled with a grimace.

He glanced up at the boy's fresh, innocent face. His clerk had cheerfully informed him that the orphanage had been overjoyed and amazed at Claymore's unexpectedly generous donation. He could rest assured the monies would be put to good use, buying new warm clothing for the children and making sure of their winter coal supplies; which were always grew short around the festive season.

Claymore had been given hand-written, thank you letters from every orphan. Some had even drawn pictures. Claymore had stared at them before pushing them into his desk drawer. He dared not throw them out for fear of them being found by his clerk and he could not bring himself to burn them.

Not that he should be concerned. Others opinions of him had not mattered before. Or he hadn't until a certain niece of his had arrived in Schooner Bay to clerk for him and changed everything Claymore had ever believed about himself.

"Blast…" he muttered beneath his breath.

"Sir?" Jack looked up from his bookwork again, his young brow creased with confusion.

"Nothing!" Claymore snapped. "Isn't there something that you ought to be doing rather than just sitting there eavesdropping?"

"Well, I am due to go out and collect the weekly rents in another hour," Jack replied defensively. "If you think I should go now…"

"Yes, you may go out early," Claymore commanded, waving an impatient hand toward the office door. "You might catch some of the shirkers on the hop and bring me back what I'm owed."

"Yes, Sir…" Jack touched two fingers to his temple as he slid off his stool and picked up the heavy rent book, tucking it under his arm.

Claymore heard the boy leave, the front door shutting quietly behind him. "Blast…" he said again with a weary resignation.

He dipped the nib of his dry pen back into the ink well. He tapped off the excess and tried to focus his attention on the work at hand. But the nib never touched the page as he sighed and went back to staring into the middle distance once more.

"I have tried so very hard to become a decent man…" he whispered. "Surely everyone can see that. They just have to look…" He heaved a long sigh of despair.

Where has it all gone wrong? He shook his head just as his nose twitched at the faintest trace of sulphur and then his ears heard the distant echo of demonic laughter.

"What?" His brows drew together sharply. No, I dreamed it. Nothing had been real. He simply can't be true…

※※※※※

"Damnation take you, Gregg," Lucius declared, frowning at Daniel as he walked up the gangplank of the Rebecca. "I thought I would win our bet for sure, this time. I showed you a clean pair of heels the moment we left Boston Harbour."

Daniel shook his head as he grasped his friend's outstretched forearm in a tight grip. "You complain like an old woman. You limped upriver in my wake."

Corded muscles stood out along each arm as they tested each other's strength to the limit. A silent tug of power as they both grinned, showing white teeth within their dark beards and the delight of combat in their narrowed eyes.

All around them, the life in the great Pool of London was chaotic. Innumerable masts of the countless ships blocked out the view of the city beyond the warehouses and jumbled businesses that jostled with their neighbours for space and light.

Trade was brisk, the voices of the hawkers of wares loud and the bustle, smells and colours, interminable. Through it all swayed women of every shape, colour and size, each eager to ply their trade and relieve every desperate seaman of his honest wages.

And the darkening of the early evening light would bring no rest or respite until the last bale and barrel had been unloaded and stowed before full darkness fell and the last harlot bedded. Then the docks were finally given over to wary watchmen and the pillaging wharf rats they tried to guard against. The furtive denizens of the night were not less busy than those of the day.

"I had thought you would be content with a draw between us," Daniel replied to the accusation with a shrug as he finally loosened his grip on his friend's arm. "It seems fair enough to me."

Lucius dropped his grip. "If the river pilot we picked up at the mouth this morning had been half as good as yours I would have beaten you by a goodly hour or two," he complained. "Instead we arrive together. It seems that fate does not wish to deal either of us a fair hand."

Daniel slapped one hand to his friend's broad shoulder. "Never fret over what cannot be mended. An ale or two will soon mellow your thinking. And a good meal to fill your grumbling belly. I'm starving."

Lucius shrugged. "I'd rather see the inside of a glass of the best port." He grinned suddenly. "That's if you're paying."

Daniel shook his head. "If it will help you see the right of it and remove that scowl from your brow, then I'll pay for the first round or two. And a steak worthy of its name."

Lucius rubbed his hands together gleefully. "You're a man after my own heart, my friend." He thrust a pointing thumb toward the gangplank. "Lead the way ashore. I'm done here. I've worked up a powerful thirst over these last few weeks at sea."

He glanced at his first mate who was standing at his elbow. "The care of the ship is yours, Mr Fletcher. See to it that you treat like the comely lady she is. I'll return with the dawn."

The first mate saluted briskly. "I'll treat her better than me old mother, Sir."

"I think you'll find my Rebecca doesn't complain as much as your old mother," Lucius replied with a laugh as he walked away toward the gangplank with Daniel beside him.

They reached the toe of the wooden planking, both stepping off onto the docks. They stood there for a moment, needing to regain the use of their land legs. The sinking sun painted streaks of russet and gold across every surface, gilding the scene in a brief shroud of beauty. With the full darkness would come the dangers and this was no place for the faint-hearted.

"I think we've earned these." Lucius pulled a cigar case from the inner pocket of his jacket. He opened it and offered his good friend first choice.

They attended to the serious business of lighting their cigars and savouring them. They were in no hurry tonight. As the light dimmed they began to discuss the merits of the various taverns they frequented ashore when they were unexpectedly accosted.

"I do not believe it. Daniel? Is it really you?" a woman's soft voice queried from behind them. "It's been so long time since we last saw each other in Boston. Too long."

"Blast…" Daniel clamped his teeth around his cigar as he turned to look behind them.

As always, Vanessa, the Countess Beauvoir was impeccably dressed in expensive clothing that fairly shouted of the very best of Parisian couture. It seemed her lack of money and a wealthy husband had not diminished her insatiable craving for the very best life had to offer.

"Countess…" He inclined his head politely, but his tone was utterly devoid of emotion. "I cannot say it's a pleasure to see you again. I did not expect to ever see you again."

"Oh, Daniel…" The Countess laughed lightly, moving close enough to stroke the fingers of one kidskin gloved hand down his forearm. "You always were so abrupt and masculine. So commanding. I have missed that very much. The harbour master told me you would be docking this afternoon. You have answered all my most heart-felt prayers. I knew you would come to my rescue."

"What brings you to London, Countess?" Lucius asked, intervening as he watched her with narrowed eyes. "It's a very long way from Boston. Or has that port also become as closed to you as the fancy salons of Paris?"

"Business…" The Countess sighed dramatically, waving one hand dismissively. "It is always business with me, these days. Sacré Dieu, Monsieur, there is no rest or respite."

She shrugged in a very Gallic fashion. "I cannot seem to trust any of the agents or captains I have previously employed. They seek to inflate their rates and are always seeking to take advantage of a poor, defenceless woman."

She fluttered her eyelashes as she raised her lace-edged, silk handkerchief to her trembling lips. "I am all so at sea and have nowhere to turn. No one I can trust with my honour and my goods. I am so glad you're here."

"I think you traded away your honour for a high price some years ago, Countess," Daniel replied hardly, removing his cigar from his lips to flick off the ash. "As for your talk of goods…" He shrugged, frowning at the glowing end of his cigar.

Vanessa pouted at him, making a small sound of discontent. "There speaks a man who does not know the trials a poor woman such as myself must endure."

"Somehow I doubt you were ever so helpless. Even when we were together." Daniel raised two fingers politely to the brim of his sea cap. "Countess…" He turned to leave.

"Oh, but you haven't heard me out," Vanessa protested, picking up her skirts to hurry after him as he and Lucius walked away.

Daniel shrugged as he kept walking. "I doubt you have anything to offer either of us. Good evening, Countess and goodbye. You would be wise not to follow us."

"Oh, but, please wait! I would seek to employ you," Vanessa replied in a rush, ignoring his caution. "I heard you two have formed your own shipping company. I wish to pay for your services to ship my goods back to Boston for me. I know I can trust you not to try and cheat me. All I ask is safe passage home."

Daniel didn't stop walking. "When the devil himself is finally ejected from Hades I might consider it."

"Captain Beaumont?" Vanessa turned to Lucius pleadingly. "My business is legitimate and my goods, expensive and worth your while. I will pay handsomely for the right ship and an honest captain. I must return to Boston as soon as possible. Can you talk to him for me, please?"

Lucius shrugged his unconcern. "It's not up to me." He touched two ironic fingers to the brim of his sea cap as he turned away.

"Goodbye, Countess!" Daniel ground out in a furious tone that halted the woman in her tracks.

He swept on, Lucius hurrying to keep up with his long strides as they both left the docks for the lights of the great city beyond.

※※※※※

The next afternoon, Carolyn opened the front door of her house to Sally Hall. She was truly delighted to see her friend again.

"I received your telegram just yesterday," she said, as they all helped her editor to carry her luggage inside. "I am so delighted you are able to come and stay with us for a few days."

Sally smiled as she shook her head. "A few days are all I can spare. A certain female author of my acquaintance is keeping me so busy with her instalments, I have barely any free time to myself anymore."

"Well, I'm sorry, but here is even more work for you." Carolyn picked up the envelope containing her latest manuscript from the foyer table and held it out.

"Oh, don't be sorry…" Sally took the envelope eagerly. "I have been looking forward to this one." She chuckled wryly. "Nothing puts more of a wrinkle in my father's enjoyment than our ongoing success. He has been quite the bear with a very sore head for some time now. We must keep up the pressure on him."

"Shall we go into the living room? Martha, will you please bring us some coffee," Carolyn asked as she turned to indicate the way with a wave of her hand. "Then we can truly be cosy and you can tell me all you know about everything."

"It will be my pleasure." Her editor followed her into the room. "One thing I do know. I have to tell you that apart from my father, that annoying Countess Beauvoir has been most insistent on being supplied with the latest copies of my magazine."

She shook her head. "It seems she was serious about setting up her new fancy goods and mercantile store. It has become quite the talk of Boston. Where and how she acquired the money to do so is anyone's guess. She had been pleading her abject poverty to anyone who would listen. Yet, she sailed for London to purchase more stock a matter of a few weeks ago."

"If you don't mind, I do not wish to discuss that woman," Carolyn replied grimly, inviting her guest to sit beside her on the couch. "Vanessa Beauvoir is nothing more than a… than a conniving besom without a single moral to call her own."

"That's her!" Sally clapped her hands delightedly. "Oh, very much so. You do have such a delightful way with words."

"Yes, well…" Carolyn's cheeks flushed warm with her embarrassment at being so loose with her tongue. "It comes from having a sea captain for a husband. Unfortunately, such words are in his vocabulary and he doesn't stint on using them within my hearing."

She smiled again quickly. "Blast…"

"Oh, please do not apologise…" Sally chuckled as she reached to pat Carolyn's where they lay folded in her lap. "Especially not to me. I've heard far worse words used by my father. And that Beauvoir woman deserves all such appendages and more besides. I have never met a more haughty and overbearing besom. I must write that word down. It's so descriptive."

"She is, indeed…" Carolyn nodded quickly as Martha carried in a tray with the coffee pot and two cups on it.

"I'll get the children to help me with taking the bags upstairs to the guest room," the housekeeper commented. "Let me know when you want me to start dinner."

"Thank you, Martha. I will," Carolyn acknowledged as she leaned forward to pour the coffee. "Now we can be comfortable and forget all about the people we detest. We have so much we need to get done while you're here."

"Then we shall start with this…" Sally held up the envelope containing the manuscript before she settled back to open it with eager fingers. "You do love to keep me in all sorts of delicious suspense about what your new captain is about to get up to with his lady love…"

※※※※※

Claymore sat at his desk as the long shadows of evening began to darken the office. He didn't rise to light any candles or lanterns. As before the ink was once more drying on the tip of his quill pen, hovering over the neat rows of figures in the ledger. He sighed over his inability to concentrate on anything important.

Jack had long since been sent home. Claymore was alone with his thoughts and concerns. Or was he?

Again that faint smell of sulphur tweaked at his nostrils, making him frown and look up. Mocking masculine laughter teased at his wary senses, deepening his already raw sense of ill-usage and complaint.

"Who's there?" he demanded crossly, glaring at the shadows. "Man or ghost, you'd better show yourself! I command you! Or leave me be!"

"You seek to command?" a man's disembodied voice replied, dripping with sarcasm. "You, who are the most lily-livered, spineless, spalpeen it has ever been my base misfortune to encounter?"

"You!" Claymore gasped, sitting straight up in his chair, hastily casting aside his pen. "I thought I was done with you! You have turned my life into a living hell!"

"Then you should feel right at home," George Turner gloated as he materialised through a flaming crack that opened up in the corner of the room. "Because hell is where you assuredly belong, my erstwhile friend." He stepped forward and the crack snapped shut again behind him.

"I am no friend to the likes of you!" Claymore stabbed an accusing finger. "You bewitched me! You made me do things I now deeply regret."

"I cannot make you do anything that is not already in your nature," Turner replied smoothly with a thin smile. "Your greed outstrips your pathetic sense of familial duty. That is a trait I can use." He raised one long thin pale hand toward his prey, pointing at Claymore with a bony finger.

"No!" Claymore leapt from his office chair, ducking away toward the door. "I won't allow you to manipulate me a second time! I'm my own man, not your blasted lackey!"

"And how will you stop me?" Turner asked in a purring tone. "You know you want all I have to offer. Admit it and I will make it easy for you. Everything will go back to how it was. Your cousin and his woman will respect you again and welcome you into their home. You will see your adopted son again. Nothing will have changed."

He turned his pointing finger toward the vacated desk and a large leather bag appeared. It clicked and clinked with the distracting sound of unseen treasure. "As before, all you have to do is agree and I will do the rest…"

"No…" Claymore replied weakly, keeping one hand clutching the office door knob and the other clamped hard, flat against his trembling thigh. "Fool me once…" He managed a weak grimace of denial.

Turner smiled as he twirled his finger in the air and the bag's fastening untied, the mouth flopping open to expose a pile of gold coins and sparkling jewels. "There is enough here to gladden even your mercenary heart." He shrugged. "And there can be many more. As many as it takes…"

He turned back to Claymore, extending his hand toward the terrified man. "You denied me once. I will not allow you to do so again. I have my reputation to think of. My master to please…"

"I…" Claymore stared at the pile of gold and jewels. Against his will, he quickly calculated the amount of the treasure he could see and his eyes grew round with avarice. He blinked, trying to block the sight of the loot from his mind.

"All you have to do is shake my hand and the bargain is sealed," Turner purred, now sure of his victim. "Everything will go back to exactly as it was before your perfidy was exposed. Haven't you been begging for that all these past days and nights when you couldn't sleep?"

"Yes…" Claymore raised anxious eyes to the demon's smirking face. "No one will ever know?"

"No one will ever know," Turner concurred, reaching his hand out further. "Come on, man. What more temptation do you need? You know you cannot resist such treasure. You may count it and recount it to your larcenous heart's content. I have been very generous with you. You have tried my patience sorely since we last met."

"I have?" Claymore blinked at him, his brow creasing. "How?"

"By trying to become something you are not!" Turner muttered back, with his hand still outstretched. "Something you will never be."

Claymore backed up against the door, trying to put as much distance between them as possible, even as he shook his head. "I don't understand…"

"You don't need to understand," Turner ground out in a frustrated tone. "Take my hand and all will be as it was. I promise."

"Something I will never be…" Claymore muttered under his breath, his frown deepening. "What something I will never be?"

"A decent man, you snivelling fool!" Turner shouted at him in frustration. "We both know you could never become such, no matter how hard you try! Now shake my hand and let this be the end of the matter! You have nothing to lose and so much to gain."

He smiled as if his point had been made as he advanced on his hapless victim, thrusting his open hand almost into Claymore's face. Captain Daniel Gregg's miserable cousin stared at it as if he'd never seen it before.

"A decent man…" he repeated slowly, as if he'd never heard the words before as his free hand rose slowly from his side.

※※※※※