A Buccaneer At Heart. Stephanie Laurens

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      Her mind wasn’t empty; the image of the unknown man still lingered. He hadn’t been wearing a uniform; she recalled Sampson’s description of Captain Frobisher—not navy, but authorized. Most likely, Sampson had meant that the man had some degree of backing from the authorities; despite his lack of uniform, the unknown stranger had exuded the ineluctable sense that he possessed such authority.

      So a captain, but almost certainly not of a naval vessel.

      The memory of the clipper-style ship she’d seen so gracefully gliding up the estuary the previous evening swam across her mind’s eye.

      The unknown captain’s ship?

      Her attention shifted to the ship. Truth be told, she could admit to feeling a certain attraction to the vessel, too—a wish to see her, to examine her, to sail on her. To stand on her deck and experience the sensation of flying over the waves.

      Aileen had long known she was no more immune to the siren song of the sea than her brothers.

      And it was probably a good deal safer to explore an attraction to the ship than to the ship’s captain, even in her mind.

      She grinned, then the sound of voices spilled into the forecourt. She opened her eyes and saw that the service was finally over. Undoto stood at the door, farewelling his parishioners.

      Aileen sat up, then stretched her arms, easing her spine. She leaned closer to the window, then, realizing she might be seen, sat back in the shadows of the carriage once more.

      She watched the congregation leave. She saw the intriguing stranger again. After exchanging words with four sailors—members of his crew?—and apparently dispatching them ahead, the stranger left with Sampson, pacing more slowly beside the one-legged sailor as they followed the winding street down the hill.

      There was a courtesy there, in the stranger’s attention to Sampson, of which Aileen approved—a recognition that old men like Sampson were by no means worthless.

      The stranger and Sampson soon passed out of sight.

      She returned her gaze to the church itself and, counseling herself to patience anew, watched and waited while the congregation dispersed. When all were gone, Undoto and one of the older men who helped with the church pulled the doors shut, while two other older men set the woven-rush window panels back in place.

      Aileen shifted her gaze to the side door. The altar boys and choristers had already left. The old men came out; calling to each other, they waved and went their separate ways.

      Finally, Undoto emerged, shutting and locking the door behind him.

      Again, Aileen was tempted to lean forward, but she held herself back; she hadn’t yet got her hat and veil.

      She watched as Undoto walked along the side wall of the church and into the forecourt. He saw her carriage, but barely gave it a glance and continued across the gravel to the street.

      Aileen crossed her fingers, praying he would return to his home and not go wandering elsewhere in the settlement.

      Undoto reached the street and turned up it, heading back in the direction from which he’d earlier come.

      She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She’d chosen this carriage because it had a small window set beneath the coachman’s seat through which she could look out over the horses’ backs and see what was happening in front of the carriage. Through that window, she watched Undoto stride up the dusty street. She waited as long as she deemed she could, then rose, stretched up, and lifted the small trapdoor in the carriage’s roof.

      For all she knew, her driver might have been snoring for the past hour. “Driver?”

      The carriage shifted as the driver started. “Yes, ma’am?”

      “I was hoping to meet my friend here, but she didn’t attend the service. I must have dozed off. I’ve only recently arrived in the settlement, and as we are here, I would like you to drive slowly—just rolling very slowly along—up the street before us, the one heading up the flank of the hill.” The one Undoto had taken; he was almost out of sight. “Just carry on, and I’ll tell you when I’ve seen enough, and we can then return to Water Street.”

      “Aye, ma’am.”

      Aileen swayed, then sat as the carriage rocked into motion. The driver followed her instructions well enough and kept their pace nice and slow. Through the small forward-facing window, she could see Undoto well ahead, but as he was striding along at a good clip, the distance between him and the carriage was only slowly decreasing.

      The area the street ran through was neither a slum, nor was it Tower Hill. The houses were modest, but neatly kept; most were situated on their own small block. Few plants graced the gardens, but rocks and stones marked entrances and paths. From the few people she glimpsed, it appeared this was the area populated by the equivalent of the lower middle class.

      There were still a good fifty yards between the carriage and the priest when Undoto crossed the road, went up a short path, climbed a few steps to a house’s porch, then opened the door and disappeared inside.

      Aileen shifted to the window on that side and, as the carriage rolled closer, studied the house the priest had entered. As the house neared, she again drew back into the concealing shadows, but with her eyes fixed on the building, she cataloged every identifying feature she could spy.

      The carriage rolled on, and the house fell behind. Satisfied, she sat back. She would recognize the house, even by night.

      Her afternoon’s work—laying the groundwork for her evening’s endeavors—was done.

      She let the driver steer his horses on for a full minute more, then she lifted the trapdoor again. “I’ve seen enough for today. Back to Water Street. You can let me out near the middle of the street.”

      She had a milliner to visit.

      And then...

      She couldn’t be one hundred percent certain that the house Undoto had entered was his own abode, yet there’d been a lack of concern, of even the slightest hesitation, in the way he’d walked up the front path and had opened the door and gone inside. If it hadn’t been his house, surely he would have knocked?

      Still, tonight would tell. If Undoto was still there when night fell...that was really all she cared about.

      As the carriage rocked slowly down the hill and turned toward the center of the settlement, she reviewed her preparations. Once she bought what she needed from the milliner, there was one last issue to address.

      To keep watch on Undoto’s house, she would need the concealment of an anonymous carriage, much like the one she was presently in. But she couldn’t risk hiring just any coachman and trusting him to keep his mouth shut about her peculiar excursions, much less the address from which he picked her up.

      Unfortunately, she couldn’t see any way around trusting the driver she hired. “Which means,” she murmured, “that I’ll have to make sure the driver I hire is, indeed, trustworthy.”

      Hat and veil first; carriage and trustworthy driver second.

      Once she’d succeeded in securing both... СКАЧАТЬ