“Oh dear,” Aunt Virginia said. “We have to do that?”
“There must be another way. The men will rig something to assist us.” But she spoke with greater confidence than she felt.
She’d seen the bodies of women whose skirts had dragged them to a watery grave. For all her assurances, many did perish.
The wrecked ship shuddered beneath her feet. If it gave way before help arrived, none of them would see Key West.
Help must be on its way.
She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing she ought to pray but unable to believe that it would do any good. It hadn’t helped Charlie. Yes, Rourke had saved her brother, but Charlie had to live with the wages of her sin. So did Rourke. She had betrayed him, let him take the blame, and then left for Charleston without a word. He must despise her.
She hoped the wrecker wasn’t him. Dozens of men wrecked. Surely it would be another.
Elizabeth peered into the moonlit night, but the slope of the deck hid the wrecking vessel from view. She could only make out its mast. One mast. More than likely a sloop, just like Rourke’s ship.
Her stomach clenched. What if it was him?
Rourke beat John to the ship’s boat, but he could not persuade the man to wait aboard the Windsprite. Under ordinary circumstances, Rourke trusted John with his life, but a man’s inclinations changed when desperate. If the colored maid proved to be Anabelle, John might disappear with her into the night. Rourke would if he was in John’s place.
Rourke pulled hard on his oar, but he couldn’t match John’s fervor. The man hadn’t seen his wife in four long years. Elizabeth had left with her maid and without a word.
In short order they neared the wreck. The waves hammered it. The spray shot high in the air, silvery in the moonlight, before raining down on them. The three masts pointed away from him like trees toppling over a cliff. Each swell ground the hulk against the reef. The schooner wouldn’t hold together long, and some twenty souls clung to the rail, wide-eyed and desperate.
The moment they reached the schooner, Rourke grabbed its ladder and scampered up the tilted hull. John followed.
“Get as many on board the boat as possible,” he shouted to the mate who’d helped him onto the larboard bulwark. “Women first.” He looked around but saw no feminine figures nearby. “Where are they?”
“Great cabin.” The mate looked anxiously toward the larboard side of the sloping structure where a black doorway loomed. “Should be waiting in there.”
Rourke peered into the darkness but could see no one. Hysterical women might have retreated or flung themselves overboard. Except for the hurricane, Elizabeth had displayed calm under pressure. Unfortunately, that exception had cost her brother the use of his legs.
The hulk shivered from the impact of a large wave. He had to get everyone off soon. The reef edge plummeted in this location. If the schooner broke free, it would sink to the depths. Anyone inside would perish. No wrecker received a penny for saving a person’s life, only for salvaged cargo, but even the most villainous wreckers rescued stranded passengers and crew.
John started ahead of him, ropes slung over his shoulder, but Rourke held the man back. “Follow me. I want someone at my back in case I slip.” In truth he wanted to keep his chief mate under control. A man in such heightened state of emotion was liable to take deadly risks.
The slick, tilted deck would prove difficult for a seasoned seaman to navigate. Women would find it impossible.
“The long rope,” he shouted to John as another wave crashed over them. “String it between here and the poop deck.”
John set about securing a line that would give the women something to hold on to while they traversed the deck. Once he secured their end, he held up three smaller lengths. “Ta put round ’em.”
“Good thinking.” Even if the women lost their footing, the line would keep them from sliding into the churning sea.
Rourke grabbed the coiled long line and worked his way along the sloping deck by climbing on capstans, winches, and other deck structures. At three spots on the way, he wound the rope around something solid. His pulse pounded, urging him to race toward the gaping entry, but his head kept that impulse in restraint. One wrong move and he’d slip into the sea. That wouldn’t help anyone. It wouldn’t save Elizabeth.
When a particularly large wave hit, he braced himself, always keeping his gaze on the entryway. Already water surged into it. If this hulk slipped any more, the women could drown.
As he drew near, a familiar face poked out of the doorway and into the moonlight.