Should she run?
Sleeplessness burned her eyes and left her cumbersome. A flicker of movement in the trees sent another tremor of alarm through her. His cronies? Someone was there, crouched just beyond a tangle of seagrass.
Wherry threw down his shovel in disgust, a great mound of sand the proof he’d been digging for naught. “Ye’ve fooled me, and there’s but one fix for it.” Taking up the pistols, he waved her on to walk in front of him again. “Mayhap yer of more value to me than buried treasure. What would yer admiral father give, I wonder, to see ye safely returned?”
In minutes they were alongshore in the island’s smallest, most private cove, perfect for a hideout. Esmée stared at a sleek jolly manned by half a dozen crew. So Wherry hadn’t lied to her. The men watched their approach, their wariness turning to outright disgust at seeing them emptyhanded. Had they truly expected chests of specie?
Esmée slowed her pace, only to be shoved from behind by Wherry, both pistols waving as he unleashed a string of epithets fit for the basest waterfront tavern. Another man grunted a few words to him from the jolly as they readied to push off.
With her aboard.
The realization ricocheted around her head but gave no motion to her leaden feet. She was shaking now, and another shove from Wherry left her stumbling in the sand. Rain began pelting down, a grumble of thunder overhead. Where would they take her? What demands would they make of her father?
Oh, heavenly Father, help me!
One buckled shoe came off in deep sand, and she bent to right it. At that moment, an ear-splitting crack sounded. Something whistled past her head, jarring her with its nearness. Wherry’s pained howl stirred her to action. Grabbing up her skirts, she abandoned her shoe and started toward the nearest trees.
Another gunshot came, this one aimed at the shallop. A third shot sent a man overboard with a splash. Wherry’s crew scrambled in all directions to take cover even as they put out to sea. Dangerously light-headed, Esmée looked on from where she crouched behind a thick pine. Wherry got to his feet, scarlet streaming in wide ribbons down his shirtfront. Another shot took off the club of his queued hair. He weaved atop the sand, taking a few staggering steps toward the jolly before collapsing on the beach.
Who had been the answer to her prayer?
Spent gunpowder burnt Esmée’s nostrils as it carried on the damp air. An answering shot from the jolly hit a near tree, splintering the bark. The vessel withdrew into choppy water, minus two men.
“Miss Shaw!” A vaguely familiar voice bade her turn round even as the rustle of brush announced a man’s approach.
Nathaniel Autrey? He stepped free of the beach grass, staring at her as if to ascertain she was unhurt.
She put a hand to her throat. “I’ve never been gladder to see someone!”
“Would you had said such upon my pursuit of you.” His wry smile further reassured her as much as the smoking weapon in his right hand.
With a choked laugh, she stood on unsteady legs as he helped her to her feet. “You are unscathed, I hope, but understandably shaken.” At her nod, his attention returned to the beach where Wherry lay. “God forgive me, but I could see no other way to aid you but take him down. Clearly his intent was to do you harm.”
“He was bent on mischief. He threatened to harm the women and children.” She leaned against the pine’s trunk, winded. “However did you happen to be here at such a remarkable time?”
“Uncanny indeed. The Almighty gets all the credit. I was merely intent on paying a debt, the one I mentioned when I last saw you in the Drysdales’ parlor over Christmas.” He returned his gun to its holder beneath his frock coat. “I came over with the crew you sent to the mainland for lamp oil. And I bring good news from a trusted source. Captain Lennox’s return is imminent, so I hoped to see him again as well.”
Esmée’s spirits took wing at the latter. Henri home. Henri here. ’Twas he who’m she’d be most glad to see when all was said and done.
Footsteps turned her on edge again till Cosmos and another crew member appeared.
“We heard the commotion from the tavern.” Cosmos regarded them, alarm stitched into his bewhiskered face beneath his Monmouth cap. “We came as quick as we could.”
“Which ain’t quick enough given the state I’m in,” the florid-faced master’s mate muttered in apology as he rubbed his gout-stricken leg. “Needs be we see to burying the bilge-swilling blackguard. Or take ’im out in the captain’s jolly at high tide.”
All eyes turned to Wherry, who was clearly dead. Esmée’s stomach twisted, and she swallowed hard even as Nathaniel took her elbow. “I’ll return you to your end of the island,” he said. “And I shall stay till the remaining crew at the Flask and Sword—or Captain Lennox—return.”
CHAPTER
sixty-two
You must stay on in the captain’s cottage,” Esmée told Nathaniel as they walked the path toward the lighthouse, far calmer than when he’d found her on the beach. “But first I must remove my dear sister.”
“I suppose it can’t be helped,” he remarked, hat in hand. “I heard Lord Drysdale has been buried. A better man I’ve not found in all Virginia.”
“Truly. We miss him sorely.” Tears threatened at Quinn’s mention, but she blinked them back. “Having you near will be a great relief to us all. But will it tax your aunts having you away? Mount Autrey needs you, surely.”
“Mount Autrey and my aunts survived a great many years without me, including the pox. A few days or even a fortnight or longer won’t change that.” He looked toward the cottage in question. “Though I am loath to displace her ladyship.”
“Think no more of it, please. We shall all be glad of your presence.”
“I’ll wait here by the pier then,” he told her.
Esmée found Eliza sitting by the hearth’s fire in her sultana, not abed as she so often was but still marked by the same forlorn expression. The remaining sores on her face were fading, but the scarring would remain. Near at hand was a Madeira bottle and cup. With a tick of alarm Esmée saw that it was half-empty.
“I’m happy to see you up.” Esmée’s voice sounded as washed-out as all the rest of her. “We’ve just come through a calamity, which I’ll soon explain. For now, Chaplain Autrey is standing out in the cold and needs to lodge here in the captain’s quarters while you return to us.”
“Return? There’s hardly room!”
“We’ve trundle beds in a pinch.”
Eliza jumped to her feet. At once her hands flew to her face, revealing the gist of her thoughts. “But I cannot be seen. He will—I look a fright. I am not the woman he remembers.”
“You are far more than your appearance, Sister.” Esmée’s words were soft. “He knows you’re grieving and is thoughtfully waiting by the water till we move you.”
Eliza hurried across the room and reached for her veiled bonnet and her cape. “I have no wish to exchange words with him so shall rush past straightaway.”
“I’ll have Lucy bring your belongings over then.” Esmée took a poker, built up the fire, and added another log before following her.