Chapter Fifty-Eight

The Spirits Will Find A Way

Daniel stopped beside the head of the gangplank and waited for the French spy, who was walking slowly toward him across the deck. In the growing light of the morning, the darkly dressed man still appeared sinister and almost reptilian like. His movements were fluid and light as if he expected to be attacked from any direction at any given moment. His gaze constantly moved from side to side.

"Blasted barnacle…" Daniel muttered under his breath as he quickly looked away from his unwelcome passenger.

But he saw the man bend as he lingered for a moment beside the deck cargo where he'd concealed his explosive device, seemingly to attend to an unwelcome wrinkle in his elegant black stocking. With a flick of his eyes, the man studied the arrangement of the oilskins and their fastenings.

Daniel did not look the spy's way again. He looked out over the harbour instead, standing with his hands clasped in the small of his back as he rocked back and forth on his toes, giving an air of a captain deeply impatient to be about his duties. He had been wise and astute enough to touch nothing and his men were under the same strict instruction to leave the cargo alone.

"Mes excuses, mon ami," the Raven said as he straightened and walked to the railing. "But the maintenance of a gentleman's toilette, when in public, is of the highest importance. Do you not agree?"

"Of course, Monsieur," Daniel replied evenly. "It is of the utmost importance." He kept his expression neutral.

"Ah, I knew you would agree…" The Frenchman stopped beside him. He pulled out a pocket watch and opened it in his palm. "I shall return in exactly two hours, mon Capitaine. Then we shall set sail. I am eager to begin our journey to its destination. I have waited and planned a long time for this."

Again, his eyes flickered to the deck cargo and his thin lips smiled for the briefest of moments. "I am only sorry our acquaintance will be so short. I enjoyed our little tete-a-tete over your most excellent Madeira. It is a pity we may never meet again."

"My loss, Monsieur…" Daniel bowed his head, even as he tapped the toe of one boot impatiently.

"Just so…" The Frenchman returned his watch to the pocket of his waistcoat and then held out one lean hand. "Bonjour, mon ami." His smile was taut and did not reach his dark eyes. "Look for my imminent return."

Daniel touched his fingers to the man's cold, dry hand for the briefest of moments. "In two hours, Monsieur. Then we shall set sail. I shall not wait for you a minute longer."

"Until then, my friend. I shall return exactly upon the minute." The spy nodded as he turned and walked quickly down the gangplank and out of sight among the crowds of workers and hawkers swarming about the docks.

Daniel remained standing at the rail, looking out over the crowded harbour. He could see the Rebecca anchored not far from his ship. He turned his head as Mr Jarvis walked up to him.

"Is all well, Sir?" the young man asked worriedly. "I wish we had the power to throw that man overboard. He reeks to high heaven of unsavoury deeds."

Daniel grinned. "I think you would find that even the sharks would not like the taste of him."

Jarvis grinned. "Yeah, too much garlic." He waved a hand in front of his nose.

Daniel chuckled as he nodded. "Send over a signal to Captain Beaumont, if you please, Mr Jarvis. I feel the need for his opinion. Lord knows I've had enough of my simpering cousin's bemoaning his present situation to last me for a dozen lifetimes. Now him, I would gladly toss overboard."

"Aye, Sir…" Mr Javis shrugged as he knuckled his forehead. "If I may say, I could not agree more. Claymore Gregg would try the patience of a dozen saints." His grin widened as he turned on his heel and hurried away, calling for the duty signalman to attend to him, right sharpish.

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"You're accusing me of being some kind of a spy?" Madame Tibaldi's rosy cheeks lost all colour and she looked stricken. "Oh, my dear Mrs Gregg. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am no puppet and I dance to no one's tune."

She began to fan herself with an agitated hand. "Oh, you do me a very great injustice. All I am here for is to help you and those you love most dearly. I can assure you, I do not know anyone called Vanessa Beauvoir, much less any countess. She and I would never move in the same circles, I am very sure of that."

"I…" Carolyn frowned at her, doubts and confusion gnawing at her ability to think straight. "But you mentioned Boston and I thought…" She sighed. "I honestly don't know what I thought. I am so tired of worrying about everything. I wish Daniel would return and we could go back to how things were before Beauvoir shoved her long nose into our affairs."

"Oh, I forgive you…" Madame Tibaldi was quick to place one hand on her arm. "Of course, I do, my dear. I can see how overwrought you are. I know these days and weeks have been fraught and difficult. The not knowing is worse than the knowing…" She nodded wisely.

"Yes…" Carolyn sighed again heavily. "I cannot help feeling that Daniel needs me. It's keeping me awake at night. Uncle Claymore was delivered bodily. I can only hope he was able to give his message."

"Then we shall remedy everything with a séance, my dear," Madame Tibaldi reassured her comfortably. "It would be a matter of moments for my spirits. You'll see."

"Are you sure?" Carolyn asked doubtfully.

"I have never lost a client or let anyone down yet," the medium replied stoutly. "Now, if you will show me to my bedroom, I shall prepare to amaze you and your lady housekeeper. My spirits do like enthusiastic attendees, so the more the merrier."

Carolyn stood up. "I will ask Martha, of course. But I'm afraid, she has never been very spiritually minded. If you'll come with me, I'll show you up to your room."

Madame Tibaldi followed her hostess from the living room and up the stairs. "Oh, then she will be a welcome challenge. And I'm not known for turning down the attentions of a true sceptic."

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Lucius Beaumont yawned as he leaned back in his chair with his boot heels resting on the edge of Daniel's desk. His legs were crossed at the ankle as he puffed contentedly on the butt of one last cigar before he must return to his own ship.

The two hours the French spy had stipulated for his return were almost up. And they did not wish for the man to find them conferring. Lucius was to be ignorant of such underhanded business for his own safety.

The Carolyn would simply vanish in the Mediterranean after she had delivered her human cargo to Tunis and that would be the end of the matter. The confounded Frenchman was not to be alerted to the fact that Daniel was not as ignorant as he made out. And that he had plans to pluck all the Raven's feathers at the first opportunity.

"First Turner and now this," Lucius complained, finally dropping his feet and leaning forward to stub out the last of his cigar in an abalone shell ashtray. "We are beset by dastardly villains and ne'er-do-wells. You seem to attract all those who seek to do you real harm, my friend. I'm blasted sure of it."

"You've had your fair share. You got the countess," Daniel reminded him grimly as both men stood up and grasped each other's forearms in a hard grip. "She was not a stroll in the park."

"Harridan…" Lucius grinned hardly as both men briefly tussled for dominance. "I should have thrown the hag overboard while I had the chance. Now this is another fine mess of hers and no mistake. French spies and dynamite charges. She really does hate you." He was first to break the firm contact and shook his arm to restore the circulation.

"Get you back to your own ship and follow what we discussed. We give this Raven no excuse to think we are onto his little game. Be sure to beat us into Tunis. I will delay as long as is possible without raising the man's suspicions."

"Aye, aye, Captain…" Lucius raised two fingers to his temple. "I am looking forward to seeing this man swing from the Bey's top gibbet. I haven't even met the man and I already detest him out of hand."

Daniel opened the door. "Go on deck and be gone. We cannot tarry."

Lucius nodded as he slipped from the cabin and looked right and left. With a last grin back at his good friend, he hurried down the hallway and took the steps two at a time. He vanished from sight and Daniel waited until he heard the pull of oars and the sounds of a departing boat.

His cousin Claymore opened the door to his own cabin and looked out. "I don't like this, Cousin," he said. "That Raven is not a man to be trifled with. What if he rumbles your plans?"

"He will know nothing and suspect even less unless someone opens their mouth and tells him," Daniel replied grimly. I am not a man to be trifled with or duped by a foolish woman."

"Aye, Cousin…" Claymore eyed him with renewed respect. "Um, let me know if you need my help again." He gave a weak smile. "In the meantime, I am going in search of my breakfast."

He lifted his shoulders. "If I may say, Cousin, your cook is rather tardy in his attendance upon me. You know I must eat at least three meals a day, and on time, to keep my strength up. This voyage is taxing my meagre resources to their very limits."

"You may not say," Daniel flashed back as he heard footsteps on the gangplank above their heads. "Carry your complaints to him. I now have far bigger fish to fry…" He turned on his heel and walked down the hallway with long, impatient strides.

"Well…" Claymore stared after him. "I was only passing on a small complaint. Some days I really do think I should never have gotten out of bed…" He sighed deeply as he went on his way to the galley.

"Hi, Uncle Claymore," Jonathan called a cheery greeting as he and Malcolm made way for him to pass them in the narrow hallway. "Breakfast's almost over. You'd better hurry."

"Yeah, the cook gets in a real bad mood if people hold him up," Malcolm concurred with a wide grin. "He said he needs to get on."

"I gave the man specific orders as to my dietary requirements," Claymore replied huffily. "I do not see that is too much to ask."

Jonathan leaned a little closer to his great-uncle. "Maybe if you paid him a little extra," he whispered, putting up one hand to the side of his mouth.

"I will do no such thing!" Claymore drew himself up indignantly. "A workman must be worthy of his hire."

Well, then, you'd better hurry along," Malcolm urged. "Before he throws what's left overboard to the gulls."

Both boys grinned at Claymore's horrified expression over the thought of going without his breakfast. He turned without another word and hurried on his way. The youngsters slapped each other's backs as they went on about their duties. They counted this as a very good morning's sport. It was a fine day when they could upset a man they both detested.

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"Do you really want me there?" Martha asked Carolyn as they finished washing up the dishes from their evening meal. "I don't believe in any of that woman's hocus pocus or spirit realm mumbo jumbo. Give me the good book any day. That will do me very nicely. It was good enough for my sainted mother and her mother before her and so on and so on."

"I could do with your support with it all," Carolyn replied quietly. "I have no idea what is going to happen or even how it will happen."

She'd just come downstairs from putting the children to bed and seeing to the nighttime needs of her infant daughter. Candy had been wide-eyed and very keen to stay up. She was very keen to help.

"Very well…" Martha wiped her hands on her apron. "For you, I will consent to attend. But the very first sign of any funny business and I will box that woman's ears. Someone needs to knock some sense into her."

Carolyn sighed. "I can only hope and pray it doesn't come to that. We shall humour Madame Tibaldi. And then, when it all comes to nothing, we can say our goodbyes in the morning and send her on her way back to Boston."

"I'll look forward to that," Martha replied as she tidied up and wiped down the benches. "I see she has already set herself up in the living room like some great queen of the night. It's all very queer, I tell you. Very queer indeed."

"I see it as a bit of an adventure." Carolyn shrugged. "I cannot see that it will do any harm. An evening of light entertainment, nothing more."

She crossed her fingers in the small of her back as she said the words. She hoped and prayed nothing would come of the evening. But she was no longer sure what she believed. But to be able to talk with Daniel… she drew a ragged breath, hoping against hope that little medium was real and not some faker.

※※※※※

Daniel stood on the bridge, keeping the Carolyn on her course with his hands firmly on her wheel. He's chosen to keep watch, having dismissed the crewman to go below and have his evening meal.

Daniel wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He certainly did not wish to encounter the Frenchman, tonight.

He doubted he could keep his hand away from the haft of the knife he carried at his waist. The Raven represented all he detested in his fellow man. Even Claymore appeared to be an upstanding citizen next to the creature in black who did not care who he harmed in his quest to infiltrate the Bey's domain in the benighted name of France. Daniel was happy to leave the man secure in his conviction that the Carolyn would sink without a trace once her purpose had been served.

"Not while I have the commanding of this whole sordid affair…" Daniel turned his face up to the moon.

The white lady hung low in the sky, rising slowly toward her zenith as she cast long streams of white light across the dark waters of the Atlantic. Their course south had been charted and it was only a matter of time before they arrived at the Pillars of Hercules and sailed in through the entrance to the Mediterranean.

"Then the game will truly be afoot…" He dropped his gaze to survey the vast, black waters.

They were sailing alone. As planned, the Rebecca had sailed early from Marseilles and were now well ahead. She had long since vanished from view into the darkness.

So far, the French spy had kept to his cabin. His sharp eyes had not noticed the set of the Carolyn's sails and he hadn't thought to query why they were sailing slower than they should be, given the fine weather and clear, moonlit night.

"The devil take the blasted barnacle…" Daniel pulled out his pocket watch and flipped the silver cover open.

Tucked within was a small miniature of his love, finely wrought in oils. He stared at it and shook his head. It offered him a small measure of comfort.

He began to softly quote the poem he'd written, "'Beloved, I am bound to you, for now, for all eternity. I can chart no other course, but homeward to your arms. I must return to you as surely as the sea birds flying with my ship return every season to the distant land. Your loving arms are my harbour, my shore, and my anchor in a storm-tossed world. I fly to you as truly as an arrow flies into the sun, to be lost in the brilliance of your smile, the warmth of your greeting…'"

"Blast…" He sighed roughly, lifting his eyes from the watch as he returned it to his pocket.

His whole body throbbed and ached with burning desire and unfulfilled need. But there was still so much to do and so many rocky mountains to surmount before they could sail home once more.

He'd already resolved never to sail this way again. The area was becoming too unstable and dangerous for honest seamen. Once the debt to Admiral Kearnes had been paid in full, he and Lucius would be their own masters. They could take or leave cargoes at their choosing.

"Blast and damn all devious plots and confounded Frenchies…" He went back to his duties, running the great wheel easily through his strong hands.

The weeks still ahead were going to be long and lonely before he returned again to the safe and warm harbour of his beloved's arms. But no power on earth, or in heaven, would prevent him from returning safely to his hearth and home.

With that thought, there came a very strange sensation. A ghostly feeling he was being observed by unseen eyes. He turned to look in every direction, but there was nothing and no one within the fitful light cast by the running lanterns.

He closed one hand on the wheel and the other on the haft of his knife as he braced himself for an attack. "What's all this? Who are you? By the Great Horn Spoon, you'd better show yourself and be quick about it!"

※※※※※

"Are you really sure about all of this?" Martha muttered in an aside to Carolyn as they sat down at the drop-leaf table Madame Tibaldi had set up in the living room. "Because I don't like it. I'd rather go to bed with a cup of tea and a good book. The spirits don't bother me and I don't worry them."

"All we can do is play along," Carolyn replied. "I'm sure there's nothing but cheap theatrics to all of this. We'll see her on her way in the morning."

Martha shrugged. "At least you're not paying her. That has to be something."

"Yes…" Carolyn nodded with a slight smile.

She could privately admit to being secretly intrigued by it all. She couldn't help wondering if there was a story in it somewhere that she could write for Sally to publish. She could title it, 'Spiritualism in the Modern Age.'

The table where she and a dubious Martha were sitting had been placed beneath Daniel's portrait. The medium had covered it with a large black silk shawl that she'd brought downstairs from her large suitcase.

She had taken time to place two large white candles on either side of her place at the table. A bulky, oriental-looking copper vessel stood on the opposite side. She bustled into her place, with her back to the fireplace.

"Madame Tibaldi…" Carolyn frowned. "Do you really think that this is at all for the best because I —"

"Oh, no, no, no, my lovely lady…" The medium waved a hand and beamed at her. "You must have faith. I have never let a single soul down yet and I do not intend to start tonight. The spirits are all around us here and they are keen to begin. I can reveal to you that they can travel faster than thought."

Carolyn tried again. "Yes, but, I…"

The medium wagged one finger. "Leave your doubts at the door. Let us begin while the night is still young and the moon is rising. We have a long way to travel. We all must spread our hands on the table with our fingertips touching each other's."

"Where are we going?" Martha asked in a deeply dubious tone. "All I want is to be able to close my eyes and rest in my own bed. You know how much travel upsets my indigestion."

"Come on, the sooner we start the sooner we will finish this…" Carolyn placed her hands flat on the tablecloth and touched the others' outstretched fingers. She inhaled deeply and bit her inner lip with worried concern.

The medium sat up in her chair. "Now we must keep in mind that every circle is a unique chemical compound in our efforts to reach the spirits. And this is our circle, so we must concentrate and you must think of your dear husband."

Seeing she had their attention, she nodded before she continued, "Spirits! You commanded our presence here, tonight. We have kept our side of the bargain. Now you must keep yours!"

She paused, looking all around the room. Nothing stirred and no one replied.

"I told you…" Martha muttered. "Nothing but chicanery and quackery. It's not like she can send a telegram or anything. There aren't any poles and wires running all the way across the ocean."

"We need to give her some time," Carolyn countered in a worried tone.

In the distance, a rising wind began to wail. Within it, voices could be heard faintly muttering. Outside the house, thunder rumbled and a single bolt of lightning flashed in a jagged ribbon across the sky. A thin stream of smoke began to curl from the copper urn on the table, swirling slowly higher as it spread out into a luminous apron.

"Excellent…" Madame Tibaldi nodded with quick satisfaction. "Captain Gregg… Captain Gregg… If you are within the sound of my voice and can hear me, please answer me with yours…"

Martha leaned closer to Carolyn. "I really don't like this. We are a Christian household…"

"I don't know. I'm not sure what's going on…" Carolyn shook her head.

"Oh, it is all going very nicely," the medium replied in a whisper. "Do you hear us? Do you hear my voice, Captain Gregg?"

A very familiar, yet disembodied voice replied, sounding far away and echoing. "What's all this? Who are you? By the Great Horn Spoon, you'd better show yourself and be quick about it!"

"Daniel!" Carolyn jumped in her chair, quite forgetting all about joined fingers as she pressed her clasped hands to her chest. "Is that really you?"

More smoke began to emanate from the urn, transforming into a night scene of the bridge of a sailing ship. Then Daniel's face appeared in the smoke, large and luminous, and looking completely confused with the whole affair.

He stared at them all in confusion. "Carolyn? I can hear you but I can't see you. How is any of this even possible?"

"Oh, Daniel…" Carolyn said again, staring at the man who now occupied the centre of the scene. He was looking all around in confusion, waving a large knife.

"Well, I'll be…" Martha breathed. "I never would've believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes." She shook her head. "Belay that. I still don't believe any of this is real…"

"Ohhhh, is that your good man?" Madame Tibaldi looked both shocked and excited. "Good heavens to hallucinations! I did it! I did it! I actually did it!" she babbled. "I've never done this before, you see."

"You're alive. You're all right…" Carolyn stared at the face in the smoke and managed to hold back her tears. "I was so worried about you. They sent a message that Uncle Claymore had managed to find you…"

She swallowed tightly. She wanted to ask so many questions, but her voice dried in her throat. All she could do was pray this was real and not some illusion as she reached out one hand to touch the edge of the smoky scene.

Madame Tibaldi gasped as she recovered herself. "Oh, my goodness. You're much more handsome than your portrait, Captain," she fluttered. "Oh, my dear, yes." She clapped her hands at the smoke.

"Carolyn… I can see you now…" Daniel put out one hand toward them. "Will someone please tell me what on God's good earth is going on here? How can I see you? And who's that twittering woman with you?"

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