Rourke squared his jaw. “I expect you to take the word of my chief mate. I trust this man with my life.”
“That’s your mistake,” Cross snarled. “Not mine. Keep in mind, Captain, that the Victory is my ship, not yours. My word is law.”
Rourke smothered his frustration. Cross was right. “Do what you need to do, Captain.” He would have to wait a little longer to see Elizabeth.
The master leaned back on his heels, triumph curling his lips. “I will require the use of your boat, Captain.”
“Of course.”
The master nodded curtly and headed for his crew, who ranged along the rail waiting for orders. This attempt served no purpose but delay. By the time Rourke finished the salvage and returned to Key West, Elizabeth’s family would have had ample time to turn her against him.
He chased down the master. “Let my men assist. Together we can patch the hull twice as fast.”
The master waved his hand as if swatting a fly. “Extra men would only get in the way. We know the old girl better than you. You stay here and prepare your chains and winches. Mr. Buetsch, come with me.” He glanced at Poppinclerk, who yawned like a cat. “You stay here.”
Rourke chafed at the arrangements, even though they made sense. Poppinclerk could lend no assistance worth having, but Rourke didn’t relish having the man underfoot. He had little choice, though.
He watched Cross muster his men and board the ship’s boat. The master’s insistence on floating a bilged ship meant the cargo must be infinitely more valuable than he was letting on. A little poor-grade muslin and ruined rice would not induce a man to take such desperate measures. Rourke’s spine tingled in warning. He glanced at John, whose nod indicated he’d come to the same conclusion.
Something valuable was on that vessel.
The idea that someone might have tampered with their trunks bothered Elizabeth. Who and why? It made no sense. Other than Aunt Virginia’s pearls, they carried nothing of value. More than once she almost blurted out what Tom had shared, but Aunt would blame Rourke. He would never steal. Never. If he locked Aunt’s trunks, he’d done so at her bidding. She must have given Rourke the key when he rescued her. It was the only explanation.
While considering the possibilities, Elizabeth watched Tom whittle what appeared to be a child’s whistle. He stood at the starboard rail with the uninhabited islands, called keys, passing by in the distance. Other than a large gap midway, the keys followed one upon another like a string of pearls.
Perhaps she ought to ask Aunt to check her trunk for the pearls, but that would entail getting permission to enter the captain’s cabin. Moreover, Aunt had drifted off to sleep and was snoring softly. Anabelle had moved to the stern soon after departure, where she gazed at the ship’s wake and the disaster they’d left behind.
After ensuring her aunt was comfortable, Elizabeth joined Tom. Perhaps he could calm her fears over the matter of the trunks.
“Everything all right, Miss Benjamin?”
This was her chance to ask the question. “You said my aunt’s trunks were already locked. Do you know who locked them?”
“No,” he said slowly. “Should I? Is there a problem?”
Embarrassed, she focused on his whittling. “Are you making that for a nephew?”
He cast the wood shavings into the sea and pocketed both knife and whistle. “Little brother.”
“Do you miss him?”
Tom shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“You could go back.”
“Not yet. Need to earn enough for passage.”
That embarrassed her even more. She seldom thought about finances. Every shop in Key West had extended her credit. Even in Charleston, Aunt Virginia spared no expense. Elizabeth must appear wealthy to Tom, who wore patched trousers.
“This wreck ought to help,” she offered.
“I’m not helping with the salvage. I won’t earn a share.”
“That doesn’t matter. Captain O’Malley rewards each man equally, regardless of his task.”
“He does?” Tom brightened. “I’ve only been on the Windsprite a month. How do you know the captain?”
“I knew him when I was much younger, before I went to Charleston.”
“I see.” He began whittling again.
Elizabeth wouldn’t let this opportunity to learn about Rourke slip away, so she turned the conversation to a more personal topic. “Did you leave a sweetheart back home?”
Tom laughed. “I was only sixteen then. Signed on to a Yankee clipper and traveled up and down the seaboard a couple years before ending up here. Haven’t been ashore more than a day or two between ships. That’s not much time to court a lady.”
“I suppose not. Does Captain O’Malley ever talk about a sweetheart?” Her cheeks instantly heated, so she looked forward.
Tom didn’t seem to notice. “He doesn’t much talk about himself.”
“That sounds like him.”