The Lost Gentleman

He would not realise that Coyote did not stand a rat’s chance against Raven.

Have I convinced you, Mrs Medhurst?

He had more than convinced her. She had seen the cold promise in those eyes of his, the utter certainty.

Fear and dread squirmed in her stomach. She thought of Sunny Jim and of how much she respected the old man who had been her grandfather’s friend. She thought of young John Rishley and how he had his whole life to live in front of him. She thought of each and every man upon Coyote. She knew them all and their families, too.

‘Sweet Lord, help them,’ she whispered the prayer aloud. ‘Make them turn back.’

But they wouldn’t turn back. She was their captain. They were coming. She knew it and North knew it, too. If her men reached Raven, their fate was sealed and the knowledge chilled her to the bone.

She couldn’t just let it happen. She couldn’t just let them sail unwittingly to their deaths.

So Kate sat down at the priest’s little desk and she thought and she prayed, but no answer came. And then she remembered the distant islands and how all of the attention of North and his crew would be on Coyote growing steadily bigger. The first tiny hint of an idea whispered in her ear. She knew these waters, all of their layout and what was in them and on them. Any good Louisiana privateer or pirate did. And Sunny Jim was a good Louisiana pirate, too.

It was not the best of plans, she knew that. It was risky. It could go wrong in so many ways. But it was the only plan she could think of, and she would rather take a chance with it than sit here and let her men sail to their doom. Anything was better than allowing their confrontation with North.

Pulling up her skirts, Kate unbuckled the leather straps of her holsters and hid them with her weapons beneath the cot. Then she smoothed her skirts down in place, and, with a deep breath, made her way to the upper deck to wait for the right moment.

* * *

‘We need to veer to the north,’ said Kit. He stood on the quarterdeck with Gunner, the two of them pouring over the navigational chart that covered this area. With one of his men dedicated to watching Coyote full time, Kit could get on with navigating Raven through these waters. ‘Regardless of what the charts say, we do not want to be too close to that cluster of rocky outcrops, or what lies beneath.’

Gunner gave a nod. ‘One cannot always trust the charts and it is better to be safe than sorry.’

‘Bear to larboard, Mr Briggs,’ Kit gave the command to his helmsman. Raven began to alter course ever so slightly, taking her in a broader sweep clear of the rocks.

‘Clearly visible in daylight, but at night, in the dark... I bet there have been more than a few gone to meet their maker by that means.’

The two of them mulled that truth for a few minutes in silence as they watched those dark, jagged, rocky bases ahead. Kit would not mind meeting his maker. Indeed, over the years part of him had wished for death. But not quite yet.

His gaze wandered to Raven’s bow, to where Kate Medhurst had stood for so long, staring out at the ocean ahead of them. Now the spot was empty. He scanned the deck and saw no sign of her.

‘Where is Mrs Medhurst?’ His eyes narrowed with focus.

‘She was right there...’ Gunner stopped. ‘Maybe she wanted some shade from the fierceness of the sun.’

‘Some shade...’ Kit murmured the words to himself and in his mind’s eye saw the dark awning fixed across Coyote’s quarterdeck. Something about the scene niggled at him, but he could not put his finger on why.

‘Probably returned to her cabin.’

‘When the cabins are like sweat boxes and there is shade behind us?’ Kit raised an eyebrow and met Gunner’s gaze. ‘How long has she been gone?’

‘No idea. Could be two minutes, could be twenty. Some time while we were engaged with the charts.’ Gunner was looking at him. ‘Call of nature?’

‘Perhaps.’ But he had a bad feeling. ‘Better to take no chances.’ They both knew he was responsible for her safety while she was aboard Raven.

‘Has anyone seen Mrs Medhurst?’ Gunner asked of the crew.

‘Lady went below some time since,’ Smithy answered from where he was holystoning the deck.

Kit and Gunner exchanged a look and went below.

Kit gestured his head towards Gunner’s old cabin that, for now, belonged to Mrs Medhurst. Gunner nodded and went to knock on the door.

There was only silence in response. Gunner opened the door, then glanced round at Kit with a shake of the head.

‘The head?’ suggested Gunner. ‘I will let you check that one.’ He grinned.

‘You are too kind.’ But Kit didn’t balk from it. He headed to the bow and knocked on the door that led out onto the ship’s head. There was no one outside. But folded neatly and tucked in behind the ledge was black dyed muslin. Kit lifted it out and Kate Medhurst’s dress fluttered like the black flag of a pirate within his hand.

‘What in heavens...?’ Gunner shot him a worried glance.

The two men looked from the dress outside to the open platform of the head.

‘She cannot possibly have... Can she?’ Gunner whispered in horror.

Kit stepped out first on to the ledge of the head with Gunner following behind.

‘Hell!’ Kit had not cursed in eighteen months, but one escaped him now. For there in the clear green water a distance from Raven was Kate Medhurst, swimming smoothly and efficiently with purpose. Oblivious to the two men that stood watching her, and oblivious, too, to the sinister dark shape beneath the water out near the rocky outcrops.

Kit and Gunner’s gazes met and held for a tiny fraction of a second and then they were running full tilt for the upper deck.

Chapter Three (#ulink_83cd3d53-c3ab-59a8-9e51-369220a5ac52)

The water was colder that Kate had anticipated and the distance to the rocks looked further in the water than it had done from up on Raven. The cotton of her shift was thin, but it still caught around her legs and swirled in the water enough to slow her progress. But the dive had been seamless and quiet and she was a strong enough swimmer, taught by her father when she was still a girl. He had seen too many people drown and insisted that it might save her life one day. It might save several other lives, too, she thought wryly, if she made it to those rocks unnoticed and was able to flag down Coyote when she passed.

Each stroke of her arms, and each kick of her legs, was careful and as smooth as possible, trying to avoid any splashing or noise that would draw a stray glance from Raven as she cleared the shadow of the ship.

Quiet and smooth.

Breathe.

Keep going.

The three-line mantra whispered through her head. She did not look up and she did not look back. Instead, she kept her focus fixed firmly on the closest of the group of tiny rocky islands that lay in a direct line ahead. All she had to do was swim to it. North and his crew’s attention would all be to the larboard and stern. Kate was starboard and swimming clear. She would have to be real unlucky for them to see her.

Quiet and smooth.

Breathe.

Keep going.

And then she heard the shouts.

Her heart sank.

Keep going. They had what they thought was La Voile’s body; it was enough to secure their bounty. They did not need her. And North was an Englishman and a scoundrel to boot. He would not come back for her, but sail right on.