Busbee, Shirlee Page 4

  "Maybe. But I don't think it was that. More than likely though," Sally said with disappointment. "Wouldn't it have been exciting if it were something more than that, though? Like if—"

  "Oh, Sally, will you shut up about it," Nicole muttered with exasperation, suddenly wishing that Sally would leave her alone with her thoughts.

  Not unnaturally Sally took offense at Nicole's manner and remarked huffily, "Well, if that's the way you feel! I'll just let you sulk up here by yourself. You are so young, Nicole. I honestly don't know why I bother with you."

  Nicole, instantly contrite and not really wanting to hurt Sally's feelings, said quickly, "I'm sorry and I'm not sulking. But, Sally, I would like to be by myself, if you don't mind."

  Resignedly Sally replied, "All right. I'll go. Shall I see you next week at the horse fair or has your aunt forbidden you to go?"

  Her mind elsewhere, Nicole answered absently, "Probably. At least I think so."

  Left alone, Nicole sat thinking for several moments. The sea, perhaps that was the answer. America, far away from the Markhams. Here was an unhoped-for opportunity of the greatest magnitude. Surely a kind fate had led Sally to her today. Her young mind filled with schemes and plans, a flame of elation flickering through her body, she scrambled down from her place of concealment and scampered off to Ashland.

  It wasn't until well after dinner, a strained and uncomfortable meal, that she was able to put her hastily concocted plan into motion. But once she had been dismissed for the evening, amazing her aunt by not arguing, she climbed the stairs to her room and locked the door behind her. Flying across the room, with hands that trembled with feverish excitement, she rooted through the few precious effects she had managed to keep of her brother's. Amongst them were the objects she sought—a pair of faded pants, one of his shirts, and his favorite jacket, a soft much-worn brown tweed. Quickly she ripped off her dress and pulled on the unfamiliar clothes, using the sash from one of her own gowns to hold up the pants. Not to be daunted by such minor things as baggy pants and a jacket whose sleeves nearly covered her hands, she surveyed herself hopefully in the mirror.

  What a laugh she looked, she thought with a giggle, staring at the clownish figure she presented. But then serious, she considered the long sable locks with the glinting auburn lights. That would have to go! Ruthlessly she hacked off the long silky hair, carefully gathering the shorn locks and stuffing them into a pillow covering to be dropped in the nearest well. Her hair, what was left of it, stuck out in odd patches, but it definitely gave her a more boyish look—a pretty boy but boyish nonetheless! Feeling more satisfied, she once again examined her appearance. Thank goodness she was still bosomless, but frowning she peered closely at her face. Large, wide-spaced topaz-brown eyes, fringed with exorbitantly long black lashes, stared back, causing her some dissatisfaction. Her nose was pert and straight, if still childish in its appearance, and her wide, generous mouth with a full bottom lip and decidedly firm, little chin completed the picture. After some closer scrutiny she agreed with herself that she made a handsome boy, except for those very feminine curling eyelashes. Well, desperate actions called for stern measures, and carefully, her face pressed close to the mirror, the scissors in one hand, she painstakingly trimmed the offending lashes until they were practically nonexistent. Then taking another long look, she was positive no one would guess her sex, and darkly she vowed that whatever the outcome, she was not returning. She would see the man at the Bell and Candle tonight and she would make him take her to sea with him! Without another glance or a second thought she climbed lithely out the window and down the old oak tree that grew near the house.

  CHAPTER 3

  If Nicole's spirits were considerably lighter as she fled through the window, Captain Saber's were not. Seated in the private parlor of the inn, a foaming tankard of ale in his hand, he found his present situation intolerable. Yet at the moment he was unable to do anything about it. Discreet and careful questioning of a number of village inhabitants had elicited the information that Robert's assessment of the situation was correct. Simon Saxon had suffered a seizure in January, and the old man's rages and sudden flights of temper were legendary to the townfolk. But in spite of this news it galled him to allow Robert Saxon to have any say in his affairs. Unfortunately, it appeared he would have to trust Robert's diplomacy. He knew he was a fool to have returned, a fool to think perhaps Lord Saxon had forgiven him or learned the truth. And to have returned alone and unarmed was dangerous. It was dangerous to have left London by himself and dangerous to have said so much to Robert. With greater hindsight he realized he should have brought Higgins with him. But he had let it be known that he had no intention of remaining, Saber thought doggedly. He had stated that he was leaving shortly, not to return. That knowledge should keep Robert from planning any unpleasant surprises—surprises such as the last one the man had arranged. He wondered viciously if Robert had told that bitch Annabelle that he had returned.

  Bitterly Saber's mouth thinned, and an unattractive light glinted in the amber-gold eyes. Four long years it had cost him. Four years of unspeakable brutality and cruelty in the British Royal Navy—all neatly arranged by kind Robert Saxon! Four years in which he grew from an idealistic boy into a hard, calculating man who had fought bloody sea battles and felt the lash of the cat-o'-nine-tails on his back, leaving scars that would be with him until the day he died.

  Remembering those years, his hand tightened about the tankard until the knuckles shone white. Angry with himself for allowing the fury to rise so quickly, he drank the cool ale in one long swallow and slammed the empty tankard down. Grimly he forced himself to push the memories away and to remind himself that in a way Robert had done him a favor. That Robert had not had him impressed into the British Navy for his own good was a moot point! A sharp unhappy laugh broke from him and he rose impatiently from his chair, wishing that he had not bespoken the private parlor. He needed the companionship of fellowmen tonight—not the solitude of this small room.

  Beddington's Corner was a small community, and the Bell and Candle, typical of the inns to be found in such places, catered primarily to farmers and village folk. The private parlor was seldom used—few ladies and gentlemen of quality stopped in Beddington's Corner. Seeking more congenial company than his own black thoughts, he left the private parlor, missing Mrs. Eggleston by a few minutes, and joined the noisy group in the dark oak-beamed common room. When he caught the roving eye of that buxom barmaid, he abandoned his plan to drink himself senseless. A few minutes later she was warming his lap, giggling at his bold advances. Between squeals of laughter and false protestations, she let him know her name was Peggy, she was finished at midnight, and was perfectly agreeable to sharing his lonely bed. Smiling, he found himself a small table in a quiet corner and watched with interest the behavior of the boisterous farmhands at the bar. Peggy good-naturedly slapped aside their amorous advances, turning frequently to the tall, dark-haired gentleman who lounged with careless elegance in the corner.

  Coo, he was an handsome cove, she thought delightedly, and a real gentleman too, with his neatly trimmed beard, white starched cravat, and clean long-fingered hands. A shiver of expectation slid down her spine as it neared midnight. Soon she would creep up the backstairs with that gentleman, and as she caught the lazy, amused glance he sent her through his thick black lashes, a sharp, pleasurable ache hit her stomach.

  Saber, knowing he would be pleasantly occupied for the remainder of the night, drank little of the dark, heady ale that flowed so copiously throughout the evening. His head was clear and his step steady, as a few minutes after midnight he and Peggy made their way up the stairs. They reached his room at the top of the stairs a few moments later, and Saber pushed the door open and ushered the eager Peggy inside. She stepped into the dark room and gave a small cry of pain as a crushing weight smashed into her head and she crumpled to the floor. As Saber realized what had happened, he leaped against the wall of the hallway, pressing himself tightly against i
t. Alert to the sudden danger, his fingers sought the heavy seaman's knife concealed under his clothing. With his body hard against the wall, he turned his face toward the open doorway, straining to see inside the room.

  Two shadowy figures seemed to detach themselves from the gloom of the darkened room. A foul expletive broke from one of them as he bent over Peg's still form. "It's the bloody barmaid! Where's the man?"

  They both whirled quickly and ran out into the hall just as Saber, knife in hand, stepped out from his place of concealment. Startled, the two hesitated, then rushed him, but he jumped agilely from their path, and with a well-placed kick sent one man sprawling into the other, causing both men to tumble down the narrow staircase. Then leaping down the steps he was on top of them before they had time to recover. He restrained himself from killing them both only when he realized that for him to be found near the courtyard of the inn with two still-warm corpses would benefit Robert as greatly as his death or disappearance. He bellowed for the innkeeper, and kept the two ruffians busy avoiding the murderous aim of his highly polished boots.

  It was an hour before all was settled, and then not to Saber's satisfaction. Peg was conscious—but with a throbbing head that would make her think twice about entering a strange gentleman's room in the future. The two men cried loudly of their innocence, claiming that they had mistaken the room and hadn't touched the woman—she must have fallen and hit her head on the floor. Peg quite honestly couldn't remember and Saber guessed there was little to be gained by pressing it, so he coldly accepted their false apologies and allowed the innkeeper to hustle them away. Apparently they were well-known local bullies and the innkeeper wanted no trouble from them.

  Glumly Saber surveyed his evening. Dalliance with Peg was out. But more importantly he knew he wouldn't sleep now, remaining in Beddington's Corner would only give Robert Saxon another chance at him. He paid his shot and ordered his horse brought round. Those men

  had not mistaken the room and if, as he had planned originally, he'd drank himself into a pleasant state of euphoria, they would have easily accomplished their task—whether it was murder, as he strongly suspected, or merely seeing him back in the British Navy. He doubted Robert would try that trick again and felt confident that the plan had been to slit his throat then and there. Tonight's disruption let him know there was little to be gained by staying, and that there existed no likelihood he would have access to Simon Saxon—Robert would see to that!

  The landlord was understandably unhappy at the outcome, and while Saber waited impatiently for his horse to be saddled, he attempted to smooth the incident away. Saber found no comfort from his words and strode away toward the stables, intent upon finding out what was taking the hostler so confoundedly long. By the light from one dim lantern he watched the clumsy movements of the sleepy boy until exasperated, he snapped, "Let it be! Go back to bed, I'll do it myself."

  The boy, perfectly agreeable, stumbled away back to his bed in the hay and with quick, sure motions Saber finished the job. He was on the point of leading the horse, a deep-chested bay gelding, from the stables when a gruff little voice halted him.

  "Please, sir, are you the gentleman from London who is looking for seamen?"

  Startled, Saber turned on his heel and gazed with astonished amusement at the small figure before him. In an ill-fitting set of clothes, the boy stared back, his wide eyes fringed by a set of stubby lashes. From underneath a black, floppy brimmed hat, short ragged ends of dark hair stuck out, adding to the boy's odd appearance. He was young, not more than ten, Saber guessed, and smiling kindly he said, "News travels fast—I did need seamen, but I'm afraid circumstances are such that I find myself compelled to leave earlier than I had planned. Were you interested in a life at sea?"

  Her heart pounding so hard she felt certain he could hear it, Nicole gasped, "Yes, sir. Will you have me? I'm much stronger than I look and I would work very hard!"

  Shaking his head slowly, Saber tried to soften the blow as he confronted the urchin's pleading topaz eyes. "I'm positive you would, but you are a little . . . too young. Perhaps next time?"

  He gave the boy a polite nod and turned to mount his horse. One foot was already in the stirrup when a desperate hand clutched his arm and an impassioned voice cried softly, "Oh, please, sir! Take me with you! I promise you'll never be sorry. Please!"

  Gazing down into those wide, begging eyes, he hesitated, strangely touched by this boy. Sensing he was weakening, Nicole pleaded, "Please give me a chance, sir!"

  Saber might have ridden away, regretful at having turned the child down, if the stableboy hadn't been aroused by their voices and chosen that moment to interfere.

  Though only a country inn, the Bell and Candle was a very proper inn, one that didn't put up with its guests being plagued by beggars and nasty riffraff. Bristling, the stableboy approached and ordered Nicole away. Grasping her collar, he attempted to throw her out of the stable and shouted, "Be gone with you, you little tramp! Go beg somewhere else. Don't bother this gentleman."

  All her hopes disappearing, Nicole gave into a wave of undiluted anger and nearly spitting with rage, she fought back, clawing and kicking like a wild little animal, even going so far as to bite the unprepared stable-boy on the arm. "Let me go! I shall go to sea. I shall! I shall!"

  The stableboy was nearly twice Nicole's size and once his first surprise vanished he flew at her, intending to give this little beggar the thrashing of his life. But Nicole was fighting mad and she gave as good as she got, receiving a bloody nose in the process. It was an unfair fight and had but one ending until Saber took a hand. Plucking her bodily off the stableboy, as she pummeled him wildly, he said laughing, "Very well, my little fox cub. You shall go with me!"

  Astonishment held her motionless, and then ignoring the pain of her bloody nose and a rapidly puffing eye, she grinned. And Saber, unable to understand his motives, found himself grinning back.

  Mounting his horse, he reached down and swung her light weight up behind him, and then riding out into the black night, they left Beddington's Corner behind them. Her head pressed tightly to Saber's back, her skinny arms wrapped around him in a death hold, Nicole could hardly keep from shouting out loud for joy. It had worked! She was off to sea!

  PART ONE: YOUNG NICK

  "Let tomorrow take care of tomorrow—leave things of the future to fate."

  —Charles Swain, "Imaginary Evils"

  CHAPTER 4

  1813

  The lagoon was like glass and dreamily Nicole stared into the smooth turquoise depths, her thoughts drifting in lazy rhythm with the waves. She was lying with a companion on the warm white sands of one of the many small islands that comprise the Bermuda Islands, having left the ship a short while ago for a few hours of quiet and privacy. The islands had long been one of Captain Saber's favorite stopping places, and the fact that a large portion of the British Navy was stationed at the main island added a bit of spice and danger to his continued use of it.

  The more than three hundred tiny islands, strung out like a hilly green necklace across the Atlantic Ocean, were ideal hiding places for many of the American privateers that preyed on the British, French, and Spanish shipping fleets. The Bermudas were the last bit of land until the Azores, and the warm Gulf Stream that carried the ships, loaded with spices, tobacco, and sugar from the West Indies, toward the colder, greener waters of the north Atlantic flowed just beyond their coral reefs.

  There were too many of the islands, most uninhabited, for the British Navy to patrol effectively and American privateers were quick to take advantage of that fact—besides they were not frightened of the greatest sea power on the ocean. Impudently they outsailed and outmaneuvered the heavier, more cumbersome warships of the British. The brash Americans were not beyond attacking and, worse, occasionally capturing a British naval ship. The war declared in 1812 by President Madison gave the privateers the added glory of performing a patriotic duty with every ship they took. Their depredations upon the English fighti
ng fleet were not great, but it wasn't the British Navy that the Americans menaced. It was loaded merchantmen on their way to Europe from the West Indies that drew the privateers and outright pirates, like sharks after a bloodied corpse. Captain Saber, like many others sailing with letters of marque from more than one country, had grown rich off those fat carriers of the wealth of the islands.

  Of late though, Nicole decided thoughtfully, the Captain seemed almost to play at privateering. He acted much in the manner of a well-fed tiger, replete but unable to resist the lure of the plump pigeons that paraded beneath his nose in the guise of the trading ships of the British. La Belle Garce, his sleek heavily armed schooner, had taken merely two prizes this past six months, and Nicole suspected that Saber had captured the two—an English barkentine late of Jamaica, and a Spanish merchantman, sailing for Cadiz—to quiet the rumblings of the crew and simply because he was bored!

  Frowning, she stared blankly at the inviting waters of the small cove where she lay wondering about a man who could name his ship La Belle Garce, The Beautiful Bitch. Saber had been acting strange for months now, and she wondered uneasily if he did indeed suspect her disguise. She moved restlessly on the warm sand, not liking the path her thoughts were following.

  Why couldn't things stay as they were, she wondered pensively. She had thrived during the past five years, for they had been filled with excitement and danger. Sometimes she even forgot that she was a female and not the tall, slim cabin boy from La Belle Garce. Her charade had been relatively simple during the first year or so, for nature, as if abetting her masquerade, had endowed her with a height that was somewhat above average in a girl and a deep husky voice that would be unusual in a woman but would pass unnoticed in a youth.