“Well, this is certainly no prize.” Aunt Virginia looked around the new ship’s accommodations. “I certainly hope the cabin is in better condition than this deck. What a derelict. My nephew would never allow such a vessel in his fleet.” Within minutes, she’d managed to denounce every aspect of the vessel.
Elizabeth rather enjoyed telling her aunt that they would not enjoy the luxuries of a cabin. A vessel this small only afforded private quarters for the master, and on such a short voyage he would not relinquish his cabin to nonpaying passengers. “With the favorable winds, we should reach home before nightfall.”
“Not my home,” Aunt Virginia said. “If we aren’t to have a cabin, where do we go?”
“Let’s sit here, in the shade afforded by the sail.” Elizabeth led her to the main hatch cover.
“You want me to sit on that?” Aunt drew back. “It’s filthy. The splinters will tear holes in my gown.”
Elizabeth did not point out that Aunt Virginia’s dress would need extensive laundering and repair after its dousing in the sea. “I’ll fetch a shawl to sit upon.”
Tom Worthington removed his jacket. “Allow me.” With a flourish, he settled it on the hatch cover.
Aunt Virginia gaped at the patched, sweat-stained garment. “That?”
“Thank you, Mr. Worthington,” Elizabeth interjected. “It’s very kind of you to offer your jacket, but we can make do.”
“Indeed,” Aunt said. “Even my niece’s old shawl is better than that rag.”
“If that’s your trunk, I’m afraid the shawl is wet.” Tom pointed to three trunks piled near the rail.
Elizabeth spotted a pool of water growing around the base of her trunk. “Nevertheless, we cannot accept your gesture, Mr. Worthington.”
“Yes, we can.” Aunt dropped onto the jacket.
He grinned and nodded toward the trunks. “Do you want anything from these before I stow them in the captain’s quarters?”
Elizabeth shook her head. Though surprised the captain had agreed to house their trunks in his cabin, she appreciated the gesture. “Everything is wet anyway.”
“I’m afraid you’re correct.”
His gentlemanly language brought a smile to her lips. The crew of the Dinah Hale was a rough lot. Elizabeth hadn’t heard so many foul words since leaving the Charleston wharf. It was thoughtful of Rourke to send Mr. Worthington with Aunt and her.
The captain climbed aboard and shouted the order to raise anchor and set sail.
As the crew rushed to obey, Tom leaned close to Elizabeth. “I’d lock your trunk if I were you.” He lowered his voice. “Some aboard might stoop to stealing.”
“From the captain’s cabin?” Most masters demanded obedience, and this one looked no different. “Surely no one would dare.”
“Best to be certain,” Tom said as the Dinah Hale inched away from the wreck site. “Do you have the key?”
Elizabeth reached into her watch pocket and discovered the brooch she’d found in the mate’s desk on the Victory. “Oh dear, I forgot.”
“Forgot your key?”
“No, no. That’s not it. Something else I meant to do.” Already the Windsprite was a sizable distance away. Even if she asked the master to turn around, he would not do so for a bauble. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll take care of it later.” She’d return it to the mate when the Victory’s crew arrived in Key West.
“Take care of what?” Aunt Virginia called out.
“Nothing of note.” She tucked the brooch back in her pocket and pulled the key from around her neck. “I suppose I should fetch my aunt’s keys also.”
“No, miss. Her trunks are already locked.”
“They are?”
How could that be? Her aunt had insisted her trunks were latched but unlocked when the ship hit the reef. She’d wept when Elizabeth couldn’t unlatch the smaller one to get her pearls. Had Aunt Virginia forgotten that she’d locked her trunks, or had someone gotten hold of her keys during the rescue?
But who?
Elizabeth sucked in her breath. Only one man had gotten near enough to Aunt Virginia to snatch the key—Rourke.
5
Rourke barely had time to offer a prayer for Elizabeth’s safety when the master of the doomed schooner stomped across the deck with another demand. Unlike Poppinclerk, Captain Cross’s boots were stained and scuffed. His coat was clean but threadbare. His cocked hat sagged atop white hair and a weather-beaten face whose lines indicated he never smiled.
He drew up before Rourke. “I’m sending my men over to patch the hull and pump the bilges. Once we get her afloat, you can haul her off the reef.”
Hadn’t the man heard John’s report? “You can’t patch that large a hole. My diver said it’s breached from stem to amidships.”
The master’s gaze narrowed. “You expect me to take the word of a darkie?”
So that was what this came down to. Rourke glanced at John, who had pasted on the blank expression that effectively concealed his feelings before those who refused to see him as a man. John, who had experienced the bitter end of slavery under a cruel owner, showed greater restraint than Rourke would have.