Rebellious Cargo Read online

  Harrow gave a deep sigh of acceptance. “It seems the answer is clear to the lady’s fate, Captain. I will report her death to the admiral. He will not be pleased.”

  Adam’s mood darkened at the man’s complacency.

  “It is not clear at all,” he ground out. She can’t be dead. His insides twisted; he was consumed in guilt, consumed in anger. Why had no one seen her? The question swam around in his head. He had failed her – after all his talk of keeping her safe he had failed her miserably.

  Harrow paced the cabin a couple of times before speaking again. “Your orders were to deliver Mrs. Charlesworth and then sail back to your convoy. But after this development, I am sure Admiral Cookson would want to interview you before you leave. After we have docked, I will report back to him and return to let you know his decision.”

  Adam tore his thought away from the image of Jane’s last moments of life, and felt a new rush of anger at the words. “I cannot sail until I know what happened last night. I cannot rule out the possibility she was forced from the ship.”

  “Are you saying that your care of Mrs. Charlesworth was so poor someone could have climbed aboard and taken her without the watch noticing? Surely your security is not that sloppy? It would certainly mean a court-martial for you if such neglect was proven.”

  Adam clenched his fist. He badly wanted to hit someone and Harrow was a tempting target. But he knew there was truth in the man’s words. A court-martial is exactly what he deserved for losing her. His voice was icy as he addressed Harrow. “I need time to investigate the matter further. A day or two’s delay to my orders will not matter, and I have a few questions of my own to address to Admiral Cookson.”

  ***

  Harrow left the ship shortly after they docked in the Grand Harbour of Valetta, giving Adam a short respite to resume his interrogation on the events of the previous night. With no shore leave to look forward to and the constant questioning, the mood of his company was sullen.

  Adam himself had never felt so devastated. Losing a battle was demoralising, losing a ship heartbreaking, but nothing compared to the wretchedness he felt at losing Jane Charlesworth.

  The officer of the watch had been Will and he trusted his second lieutenant with his life. In fact, there was not a man on duty that night whose loyalty or efficiency he would have doubted. But it was not unheard of for a man to fall asleep leaving some part of the deck unobserved. It wouldn’t have been the first frigate to have been taken by surprise from a silent long boat drawing alongside – but, as Harrow pointed out, there were no sounds or signs of a disturbance.

  All the evidence pointed to the fact she had come up on deck and given herself to the sea. She was not the type to give up on life – she was a fighter – but he had not left her strong that evening, had he? One moment she had been warm and welcoming, melting into his arms responding to his lips, and then she was struggling to free herself of his touch. He had upset her, frightened her; the thought sickened him. He rubbed his hands across his face trying to keep his mind on the facts. He could not let sentiment affect his reason.

  There was no answer – unless someone had lured her from the ship, someone she knew – that way she would not have cried out. She had been silenced by someone still on board, he was sure of it. His thoughts were interrupted as Celine walked through his doorway, deftly brushing past the guard, the look on her face deterring the marine from blocking her entrance.

  They exchanged a silent look of shared grief before Adam gestured her to a seat.

  “I am sorry, Celine – I know you were close.”

  “She is not dead, Captain. She would not have gone willingly from the ship. She has been taken, forcibly taken – but she is not dead.”

  He sighed, wishing he could believe her. “It is still possible she could be alive but—” he picked up the poignant piece of blue gown “—this is compelling evidence.”

  Celine remained silent as her eyes, black and luminous, touched his soul as they stared back at him. Did Jane confide in her about their last disastrous passionate encounter?

  “I saw her last night, Captain, after she had left you.”

  Adam flinched. But her tone held no retribution as she continued.

  “When I helped Jane to undress last night, she was upset, but with herself – not you. She was angry at the way she had treated you. There is an explanation, but it is a story which is not mine to tell.”

  “Perhaps not, but unfortunately she is not here to tell me herself.”

  Celine’s voice sharpened impatiently. “When I left her she was in her nightgown and settled in her bed. But she often found sleep hard to come by, as I suspect she did last night. It was not unusual for her to rise and go up on deck. But what is strange is that she bothered to dress again in an evening gown. One which she would find hard to fasten without assistance. She would have dressed in practical garments.” She pointed to the blue remnants. “I do not believe that this was what she was wearing when she disappeared.”

  Adam stared silently at Celine for several minutes, a warm spurt of hope beginning to shoot through his body. “So someone just wants us to think she is dead.”

  Celine nodded. “Captain, I want to go ashore. If she were taken, someone may have seen something. I can mingle amongst the locals – if something unusual had happened in the harbour last night the locals are the ones who would have noticed. People who would not communicate with the military may confide in me.”

  Adam found the young woman’s pleas compelling and he knew she shared the need to do something positive to find her companion. He rose. “Very well. But do not put yourself in danger, and report back to me immediately you have any new information. I have a meeting with Admiral Cookson. My orders are to sail, but in the circumstances I certainly will not leave without doing my damnedest to find out what happened.”

  Celine frowned at him. “If you sail, you may leave me here. Wherever she is, she is on her own and I will not desert her. She is not dead; if that was so, I would feel it in here.” She placed a hand over her chest.

  His gut rolled over at the thought of having to sail away without being allowed to find her. Damn it! He had been the one to fail her. He had to find a way to change his orders.

  Celine was still looking at him a strange light in her eyes. “If you think this your fault, Captain, you are wrong. She respected you – and more. It is not my place to say it but you were not the source of her terror. In fact, I believe you were on the brink of banishing her nightmares for good.”

  Adam turned the words over in his head. They should have comforted him but all they did was make him feel more wretched. He had bloody failed her, failed her terribly.

  He raised his eyes to Celine. “Let us keep your theory to ourselves for the moment.”

  She nodded as she left. “I understand, Captain.”

  ***

  Admiral Sir Robert Cookson, usually known for his congenial character, was in a foul mood. His recovery from an illness that had crippled him with severe abdominal pains for three days had left him out of sorts – but far more distressing and painful was the news of Charles Clayfield’s daughter’s death. He felt responsible, as he had been the one to arrange that she be escorted to the island.

  He had only known Jane Charlesworth through his old friend’s accounts of her, but these had always been full of such pride and delight in his daughter, that Cookson felt the loss of her life heavily. He had let them down, both father and daughter. Her father’s last documents he had guarded with his life. But it had all been for naught. His friend’s last report seemed destined to remain a mystery. Clayfield’s code had appeared foolproof. Then his daughter had turned up at the Admiralty, demanding information on her father’s death – and unwittingly revealed how much her father’s skill still lived on.

  He sighed. He was not happy with Adam Marston – not happy at all. Hell’s teeth! The man had been handpicked for the job. His war record filled with commendations. But recriminations were use
less; he had to figure out his next move. His work had trebled since the peace had collapsed and the island had unofficially reverted back to military control. The incoming frigates and ships of the line filled Valetta with military personnel awaiting developments.

  His eyes misted at the memories of his old friend. He and Clayfield had been at university together – both served in the Intelligence section and had cemented a lifetime friendship. Throughout the last weeks of Clayfield’s life he had received two coded communications from him. The first had warned of the discovery of serious leaks in information amongst the higher ranks of the Admiralty. The second he had not been able to interpret. The code was not one known to any of the cryptologists he had secretly engaged. He dared not send it to England via the usual channels, and had gone straight to Addington with his concerns. Clayfield’s daughter had been their last hope at a translation.

  ***

  Adam shifted uncomfortably as Cookson looked back at him with barely hidden contempt. Captain Harrow had made his report and had left them a few minutes ago. Now he was bracing himself for the reckoning.

  “Your orders, Captain Marston, were specifically to keep Mrs. Charlesworth under your protection and deliver her safely. Losing her overboard without a soul knowing is unforgivable. In the circumstances I see no reason for you to stay in Malta. You had better follow your orders to rejoin the convoy. I am afraid this incident may well break your advancement in the service, and a court-martial cannot be ruled out in the future.”

  Adam had no defence, and was not about to waste time pleading his case. But he wasn’t prepared to leave without finding out what had happened the previous night.

  “I believe, sir, that given a little more time in port to investigate the matter, I might unravel the events leading up to her disappearance.”

  “Disappearance!” Cookson’s voice held a tone of impatience. “Her death, you mean. Captain Harrow has just told me she drowned.”

  “I have reason to believe that when she left my ship she was not alone.”

  Cookson sat upright, his eyes boring into the younger man. “Am I to take it that Captain Harrow has not been party to your theory?”

  “No, sir, I have not shared my theory with anyone else – mainly because I have no idea who I can trust at the moment. The only reason I am confiding in you is because I have heard from Mrs. Charlesworth’s lips that you were a loyal friend to her father.”

  Cookson’s eyes rounded. “Your impudence, Captain Marston, especially in view of the events of the last few days, is extraordinary.”

  “Impudence is not what I intend, sir, but I have not the time for protocol – may I explain.”

  “I think you had better.” Cookson’s eyes flickered with interest and an unexpected touch of respect towards the captain.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jane struggled to open her eyes, and failed. The sounds and motions of the sea were missing. After weeks afloat, the stillness was alien to her, as was the softness of the mattress beneath her. She could hear the flutter of voices circling in the air, causing the shooting pains in her head to intensify. Where was she?

  The voices disappeared and a cool soft hand touched her forehead. Celine, it must be Celine. Thank God! But her eyelids were like heavy curtains refusing to lift.

  Several minutes past until she finally managed to open her eyes. “Celine, are you there?”

  The hand was back, this time on her arm, but the soft feminine voice was not her friend’s.

  “So you are back with us, my dear – the physician said you would come around in your own time.” Jane focused on a tall slender woman dressed in a serviceable black gown, her grey hair scraped back into a neat bun. She had the air of a housekeeper or governess and spoke English with a strong Italian accent.

  “What happened – where am I?” Jane asked, wincing at the way her own words jarred her senses.

  “You are safe in Malta. You had a fall on the ship on which you were travelling. When the ship berthed, you were brought here.” The woman straightened her covers and cast an assessing eye over her. “You are in one of Admiral Cookson’s houses, Mrs. Charlesworth, on a secluded part of the island. You are quite safe.”

  Jane digested her words. A fall! She tried to remember, but a thick fog had nestled in her head. She had been on deck late in the evening, Will Forbes had spoken to her, and then he had been called away – she had strolled, then she had stumbled. She focused back on the woman.

  “Celine – my companion, is she here?”

  The woman frowned. “No, but do not worry, you will be looked after. Now you must rest. I will send word to Admiral Cookson of your progress.”

  The woman held a glass to her lips and Jane took a few sips of the liquid, it tasted of sweet oranges and was very soothing on her dry mouth. The woman gently pressed her back against the pillows.

  But, however inviting, she didn’t want to sink back into slumber.

  Celine would not have left me.

  Jane put a hand on the woman’s arm as she turned to leave. “I need to see the captain of the Serena, the frigate I was on board.” Jane’s voice turned desperate as a growing sense of loneliness enveloped her.

  The woman frowned again. “The ship that you arrived in has already sailed.”

  Sailed! He had gone then, and she had not said goodbye; perhaps it was for the best. The last time she had seen him she had acted like a fool, she could remember that much – a tease, a pathetic miss. He must surely have been relieved to dispatch her after they had reached port. Yet she could still feel the burn of his lips on hers. Something deep in her chest constricted, gathering in feelings that had had recently broken free and now had to be packed tightly back in place.

  Her heavy lids closed, damp with emotion, as she surrendered to sleep. But where was Celine? Surely she would not have sailed without her?

  ***

  Celine was waiting in the shadows of the Commissioner’s impressive residence, watching the comings and goings of the military personnel. She had arranged to meet Captain Marston here, after his interview with Cookson. The regal building shone and glinted as she watched the officials come and go. She had spent several hours on the quay picking up information, but none of it very useful. So she was anxious to learn if the captain had found out anything further.

  Her eyes narrowed and she sank bank into the shadows as she watched Captain Harrow leave the building with Crosby and two marines.

  After a few words to his men, Harrow returned inside. So Crosby was on his way. She had been told he was going to be on the next frigate bound for England. She wondered on which of the ships he was destined to travel, hoping his journey would be thoroughly unpleasant. She watched the party head off on horseback down towards the docks, but as the roads branched they turned right. Celine frowned; they were not going towards the harbour. Perhaps they were going to secure him in a garrison overnight. She turned away and then stopped – somehow she felt compelled to follow, compelled to ensure her mother’s murderer was safely dispatched.

  ***

  The sun was high in the sky when Jane’s eyes fluttered opened again, the sultry Mediterranean heat causing her to shove away the bed linen. Her eyes roamed around the room checking she was alone. Where was Celine? Something must have happened – she would not have abandoned her. Although, she thought bitterly, that was what Captain Marston had done. She wiped the sweaty sheen from her brow impatiently. Devil take it – the man had turned her emotionally inside out and then sailed off, not even bothering to make sure she had recovered from whatever mishap had become her. Her shoulders slumped, that was unfair; he was a naval captain and was bound by orders. But she wished their last moment together could have been different.

  She could not believe she had fallen on deck, but it had been an emotional evening and it was possible she could have been unduly careless. Her head had cleared a little although a dull throb still pulsed across her temples. She reached out for the bed post to help lever herself to her f
eet. Her limbs all seemed to be working, if a little unsteady. Edging around the bed, she made her way to the window and studied the landscape.

  The room was on the first floor of a flat-faced, whitewashed building, which strangely did not seem as large as she first imagined. There was a yard directly below where a few chickens roamed around a small stable block. Farther on, orange trees stretched ahead until the landscape grew dusty and rose steeply. They were in a valley, so she had no idea if the sea was just over the hill or miles away. It felt like it was in the middle of nowhere. But Malta was a small island; barely seventeen miles at its longest, she recalled the captain telling her. Perhaps they were just letting her recover somewhere quiet.

  She walked over to a wooden cupboard set into the far wall of the room and flung the doors open in search of her clothes. Finding it empty, she then examined each of the drawers of the polished wooden chest under the window, and cursed as she discovered her clothes were not in the room.

  She had been dressed in a white cotton nightdress edged with wide bands of intricate lace. Checking the garment covered her decently enough, she walked over and put her ear to the door. She sensed a presence outside – a guard perhaps – she could not decide whether to be relieved or alarmed by the prospect. Grasping the handle she turned it, but the door would not budge. Crushing the fear rising from her stomach, she tried again, this time turning and pulling with increased vigour. Why was she locked in?

  Banging her fist on the door, she called out. “Is there anyone there? If so, open this door at once. Then please fetch the mistress of the house, I wish to talk to her urgently.”

  Outside the door she could hear someone shifting as though she had wakened them from sleep. Peering through the keyhole told her nothing, except the wall opposite was a bland cream colour. When there was still no answer she banged on the door again.